The Natural Balance
by AZ-woodbomb
Summary: Gotham City is introduced to the wrath of nature herself.
1. New Mother Nature

AN: Okay, I admit I haven't quite figured out what I want from Ivy, but there are a few things I will not use. I'll try to stay clear of the whole Seductress thing(i.e. porn, as she is most frequently used in comics) and I won't make her a sadist. She'll be ruthless and evil, sure, but not for pleasure(like Dini did so revoltingly in the Harvest story. I actually like his work most of the time, but that has got to be the worst Ivy story I have ever read.(Granted, I haven't read Kevin Smith's Ivy appearance in Widening Gyre, which looks like it may actually be even more blatant.)), but to achieve what in her mind constitutes as a better world. I basically want her to have completely different morals, on account of her being only half-human and despising the plague that is the human race. If I use her in later stories I'll gradually make her a bit nicer person after Harley's good influence starts to soften her view of people.

All that said, this isn't a character that I understand perfectly, but I'm going to try anyway. So if you feel Ivy's acting out of character, don't hesitate to let me know. She won't be the only villain in the story but she'll be the main one and there won't be nearly as many cameos as in the last story. Yes, this is a sequel, but I don't think it matters if you've read it or not.

I'm terribly sorry for this obnoxiously long author's note.

Disclaimer: Own nothing, make no money.

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Dr. Joan Leland sat in a therapy room, awaiting her new patient. This would be the second famous patient she treated. She only hoped she would have more luck than with Dr. Crane. She wasn't sure why she was chosen, but she suspected it was because she was one of the few doctors at Arkham who weren't here to publish groundbreaking work about the madmen of Gotham and become famous. She was here to help.

The door opened and they led him in. In the bright orange colors of Arkham, the Riddler wasn't very impressive. He was slim and average height, might even pass off as handsome if you didn't know who he was or what he'd done. Everything about him was pretty ordinary. Except for his eyes. They were a vivid green, made even more vibrant by the contrast of his surroundings, the dull gray walls of Arkham. A small, smug smile played on his lips, but his eyes enhanced the look, making him look like he was inwardly laughing at her.

Maybe that was why they'd chosen her to treat him instead of any of the number of supposedly brilliant doctors at Arkham, whose aggressive methods she was the exact opposite of. Riddler wanted to play. She couldn't help but think Dr. Elsep had made the right decision, vain as it sounded. It would appear that Elsep had learned from the Quinzel fiasco, even if he hadn't been quite himself ever since.

The guards left the room to stand by the door. Her patient was fastened to the chair, looking uncomfortable but profoundly happy. His eyes swept the room, then settled on her own. Maybe he was trying to unsettle her, but he would have to try a bit harder. You didn't stay at Arkham for five years without toughening up.

"Good morning, Edward. I'm Dr. Leland."

"Pleased to meet you."

She was mildly taken aback at that. Most of the patients that had committed violent acts tried to scare her right away, often with petty insults, sexual insinuations or even growls. The only patient she'd had the last three years that had managed to unnerve her was Jonathan Crane. He had also been polite to her, but he had never sounded so chipper.

"Let's start with something easy. Tell me about yourself."

"My name is Edward Nigma, dear **janet orlando cold**."

"Excuse me?"

"And I was born quite some time ago."

"That's a bit too vague for my tastes, Edward."

"My hair is dark."

"Yes, but I'd like you to talk about your past. It would help me a lot if you could tell me about your background, your family, your experiences in life and things like that."

"I've had many great experiences. I had a family. My background is behind me."

"You had a family? So they're deceased?"

"More or less."

"You'll never be released if you don't co-operate with me, Edward."

"An astute observation, Jona."

"Joan, my name is Joan."

"Sorry, your name just isn't anagram-friendly."

"Alright. Tell me more about your family, can you tell me something about your father for instance?"

"He was thick as a brick. But then again, most people are."

"Except for you?"

"I'm far too modest to be able to say that yes, I am a genius."

"But you just did, didn't you?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"There is **no** such **thing** as **no**thing."

"Can you name someone besides you that isn't stupid?"

"Batman. Dr. Crane. Possibly the Joker. Oh, and Bruce Wayne as well, I suppose."

"You really think Bruce Wayne is smart?"

"Yes. **U cee, W. Brayn** is smart. Deluded, but smart."

"Alright then. I suppose he must have some talent to be able to run such a successful company."

"No, any idiot could do that. It's what he does in his free time that is intriguing."

"What exactly does he do in his free time?"

"I'm afraid telling you would be a breach of contract."

"A breach of contract? Are you implying you worked for him?"

"I haven't done an honest day's work in my life."

"Bruce Wayne was involved in something illegal?"

"What sort of multinational company isn't?"

And so the session went on. Joan making no progress and Edward chattering endlessly on but saying nothing.

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"Who is that?", the Scarecrow asked, his voice cold but revealing just a hint of confusion.

"A friend", his short tenant replied.

"Is she now?", he continued, his eyes roaming over the woman. She was staring straight ahead expressionlessly, clad in a strange blue dress that didn﻿'t really fit. He doubted the dress was meant for an adult.

"She was Alice before but I've changed my mind. Now she's just a guest."

"And what will you do with her now?", he asked.

But the Mad Hatter did not hear nor reply, for he had moved on to other things.

"Up aBove tHe wOrlD yOu fLy,"

He supposed he could find some use for this unexpected guest, the Scarecrow thought.

"LikE A tEatRay iN thE sKy."

He had almost completed his very own haunted house in the park and he was itching to try it out. It would be a fine experiment.

"A most fine experiment, most fine, most fine", he muttered as he dragged the former Alice away. Then mentally kicked himself as soon as he realized what he was doing. The Hatter's ramblings were starting to get to him.

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It was noon when two women wearing raincoats and wide brimmed hats left Robinson Park. One of them was barely visible behind her clothing, hat brought low and head down. The other was the exact opposite, almost skipping along, humming loudly.

As they hit the street the latter dashed forward and picked a newspaper off of the street. After quickly tearing patches out of it she turned around, revealing two peep-holes in the newspaper.

"Lookit me Red! Aren't I just the most inconspicuous thing ya've ever laid your eyes on?"

Against her better judgment, Poison Ivy smiled. Her new friend was the happiest person she'd ever met and her cheer seemed to be contagious. But her happiness was understandable , it was spring and the sun was shining bright, making her forget for just a moment where she was. She felt the urge to cast off the coat and let the sun soothe her skin, but suppressed it right away. It wouldn't do to draw too much attention to herself.

"So where are we going? Is it someplace fun?"

"Not really, no. We're going on a recruitment drive."

"Why? Can't ya just make your plants do everything?"

"Possibly, but it's good to be flexible and besides, I need an army that I can throw into the fray without a second thought. We're going to recruit the desperate and the angry, those who believe they have nothing to lose, those who believe they have been wronged. I'm going to harness mankind's savage power for a good cause. I'll feed them and provide them shelter and with time, they will repay the favor."

Ivy stopped and Harley followed her eyes. Before them was a group of people clad in rags, standing around a fire and staring at them with dead, hopeless eyes. A sweet scent filled the air, overriding the filthy smell of the bums, and they were ready to listen to the May Queen's words.

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Bruce stared out of the windows of the limousine, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He saw the rays of the sun beaming down on the city, bathing it in light, a completely different city than the one he usually saw. It was spring, birds chirruped in the trees and the people they drove past seemed peaceful. He was on his way to lunch with a charming woman named Selina Kyle, who he knew next to nothing about. Just this once, he'd decided not to look into her background, decided not to be the crimefighter. Today, he was going as Bruce Wayne, not Batman or the playboy.

Suddenly it dawned on him what the feeling was. He was happy.

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AN: Nothing actually happens, I know. But stuff will start happening in the coming chapters, along with the horror. I just wanted to put the introduction out, to give myself a little mental kick in the behind. I was going to be real professional about this one and have a definite storyline before posting, but alas, I just can't force myself to do it. I've got a vague idea of where I'm going with this but it's viable to change drastically.

The rate at which I put out new chapters probably won't be too fast, but I'll at least try to get the second chapter out within a reasonable timeframe. Let's say 1 week tops. Now I've probably jinxed myself, but who cares?


	2. Fixin’ to die

AN: This takes place almost a week after the first chapter.

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The date a few days before had been splendid, if a bit short, and they'd decided to meet again, this time at a nice Italian restaurant, one of the few that had no ties to the mob. They took a seat, ordered and started out with the regular chit-chat, just like the date before, but now with more familiarity . He didn't take his eyes off her for more than a second at a time.

She was, to make a long story short, beautiful. He had assumed he'd be immune to the effects of beauty by now, due to the never-ending stream of models, but it would seem he had been wrong. Coupled with her charm, it made her more than just pretty. She was more like a dream, her green eyes filled with mischief, her smile radiant and her tingling laughter made him crack a genuine smile as opposed to the fake one he regularly plastered across his face. She had a sharp wit that was only accentuated by her voice. It was almost like…purring. As he stared at her he thought that this evening was perfect.

Until the impossible happened.

"Bruce? Are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"You zoned out there. I hope I'm not boring you."

He panicked. He lapsed back into role and went full-blown vapid playboy on her. He ordered the most expensive wine and asked for the violinists at the restaurant to play for them. He gave her a smile that was the very definition of vapid, spewed forth the most cliché lines he'd ever heard, let alone said. For a good thirty minutes he out-shined his regular act, his mind screaming at him to stop.

"Oh, will you look at the time?", she said. "I have to run. I'd love to do this again, though."

"Uh, yeah, sure."

"Goodbye, Bruce."

"Bye, Selina."

He had Alfred take him home. He went over the events in his head. How had this happened? Bruce Wayne did not get nervous. Batman did not get nervous. He was a level-headed ninja, not a love-struck teenager.

He sank back in the seat and groaned.

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A crowd stood before the May Queen, a group of haggard looking people from the bottom ring of society. By her side stood Harley Quinn, watching her with a puzzled expression.

Their stay had been short so far, but it had been better than anything they'd had for a long time. Poison Ivy's abode was an oasis in the middle of the desert that was Gotham City. Food was plentiful, they were safe from the elements and they were not treated with contempt. It seemed too good to be true, and it probably was. They knew that sooner or later they would be forced out, as always. They had no voice in this land of corruption.

"Friends, guests, I am pleased you accepted my hospitality. I'm sure this must all seem very strange, due to living underground in a cave that resembles a fairy-tale more than anything else, not to mention the appearance of your benefactor. But I assure you, this is all very real. And this little piece of paradise? It will grow. With your help, Gotham can be changed. We can turn things around, cleanse this city of its filth, its corrupt authorities, its sinful way of life. A new rule is coming, a fair and just rule, where no-one will oppress you again. Everyone will have a place in the kingdom of the green. We will turn Gotham into a paradise unlike anything this world has ever seen. And then? Perhaps even the world. Will you help me?"

A murmur of acceptance went through the crowd and she smiled.

"Good. Go out and tell your friends. Bring them here. There's plenty of room left. And the more we are, the more sway we hold and the more chance of a successful revolution."

Parts of the crowd left to spread out the good word and Ivy went to her private part of the cave with Harley.

"Nice speech, Red. Did ya mean any of it?"

"Some of it. I will make Gotham a paradise. I will take over. There won't be room for everyone though. At the very least I'll have to keep the herd from growing once I've taken over. Overpopulation is a problem I haven't quite decided how to solve yet. Time will tell."

"So what if the bums say no when ya ask 'em to do sumthin' dirty?"

"They won't. My powers of persuasion should be enough to convince them if they don't agree to it at first. And if there are any dissenters, they'll simply disappear off the face of the earth."

"Ya sound pretty sure they're gonna follow."

"People are stupid, Harley. All you need to do is give them something, anything, to band them together. Nationality, religion, an ideal, it doesn't matter what, they just need to believe in something. Here, that something is me."

"Gee, I've never been part of a cult before. Shouldn't we be wearing hoods or something cult-y?"

"Sure, Harls. If you want, you can wear a hood tonight. We're going on a little errand."

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"Good afternoon, Edward."

"Hi, Joan."

"You look decidedly unhappy today. Is something wrong?"

"Yes, yes there is. I found something troubling in my cell. A camera. A bat-shaped camera."

"You can't be serious."

"How creepy is that? He's been watching me for weeks! Watching me sleep! That's wrong, disgusting, evil. Morally questionable at the very least, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, if what you're saying is true, he is a criminal. I don't think he really cares if what he does is right or wrong."

"Sure, I guess he is."

"You said what he did was morally reprehensible. Do you think your actions almost a month ago weren't evil?"

"The concept of good and evil is an ever-changing one. What you call evil, people in other parts of the world view as perfectly normal. What you think of as normal would have been frowned upon at other times in history."

"Maybe so, but we are more civilized now than we were a hundred years ago."

"No, you're not. But anyway, keeping in the present, fine. It﻿'s not acceptable behavior. But it isn't necessarily against the rules. What I do is hardly more evil than the actions of CIA agents. If I had some sort of authority telling everyone that what I did was good, that it was for the benefit of everyone, I wouldn't be punished for my games. But to get such support I'd need to be a brainwashed little idiot so I guess that's out of the question."

"Not everyone endorses the methods of those people."

"That's not the point. The point is, they get away with it."

"But still, pointing to someone else and saying they're worse than you are is not a very good way of convincing me I should think of you as a good guy."

"You shouldn't. You shouldn't think of **anyone **as a good guy. There are no good guys, just like there are no evil guys. Defining people, governments, religions, anything, as good or evil is moronic. It's all a matter of perspective, of opinion. There is no holy truth, there is no sin, just the rules of society. And as you've no doubt figured out, I am above society."

"But what would you be without society? Your…games, as you call them, require participants or at least an audience. And there will always be a society, as long as there are people."

"True, to a certain extent. I benefit from society, I _leech_ from society by taking and not giving anything in return, and I am too smart to be caught by society. I was caught by another outcast. Or maybe you'd call him something else. A genius, a vigilante, a hero, **a** **slimy cheating** **rat and a miserable**….errr, outcast, let's stick to outcast. If not for Batman, I wouldn't be here. Although I'd still be robbing from morons, conning people who have are the intellectual equivalents of newborns, so it's debatable whether he's a good thing or not."

"You were a con-man?"

"I recall saying no such thing. But I can give you this much: I am most definitely a man and given my aversion to law, my being a con-man doesn't seem too unlikely."

"You said it's debatable whether Batman is something positive or not. How exactly do you benefit from his existence?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."

"Very well. Let's go back to your crimes and your view of them."

"They're smart, that's all I can say about them that I think you can understand."

"How are they smart? You didn't really profit from them, you gained nothing but notoriety."

"How is committing crimes to make money smart? It's not a fulfilling job, it's repetitive and mind-numbing, just like the lives of regular people, except with the risk of being put away added to it. If you're successful you'll get some pointless luxuries, some pathetic sense of power. There's nothing smart about that."

"So what do you achieve by committing crimes?"

"Enjoyment, fulfillment, excitement, every -ment word you could imagine. I grow in maturity with every round. And from the outside, I can see in. And I can understand. Understand just how fragile, pointless and empty the world order is. Society would crumble if people just noticed how weak the foundations are. If they realized that their system is built on thin air."

"It sounds like you have no faith in other people."

"Faith, that's exactly it. Everything is based on blind, mindless faith. If you try opening your eyes just once, you'll see what I mean."

"All right, I feel like I understand at least partially how you view yourself. Thank you. But I have to ask, how does this connect to riddles? Why use riddles, Edward?"

"Why use the English language, Joan?"

"Please, Edward, tell me. Why riddles?"

"You have to figure out yourself. Because, of course, it's a riddle."

She refrained from letting out a long hopeless moan that had been building up inside her the whole session.

He looked at his wrist. "Why look at the time! I'm afraid I have to go."

And a second later the guards entered. All she managed was a raised eyebrow. His smug little grin widened slightly in response.

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Nathan Redville was not feeling well. In fact, he hadn't been feeling well for quite some time now. Out of six people that had nailed a deal with a South-American company for cheap land, he was the only one left. Shortly after they'd made the deal they started receiving threats, all the usual bullshit about how they were destroying the rainforest and so on and so forth. But then five of his colleagues were offed in the same night, at a restaurant, perfectly out in the open but still no-one had seen a thing.

And after that, the threats kept coming. E-mails, phone calls, letters and just this morning a random bum had whispered it to him. He was going to die for his affront against nature. He'd hired a bodyguard, which had completely drained his savings and achieved nothing except making him uncomfortable. It was hopeless. He was too low in the company pecking order to be given any protection by the company. The police weren't any help either. He felt doomed, that was the only way to describe it. He turned off the television and downed his drink. At least he was going to enjoy his last moments on earth.

There was the distinct sound of footsteps coming from the hall where his bodyguard stood. He heard voices outside. His bodyguard speaking to someone, a woman. Then a loud thud. His heartbeat went up. Fetching his pistol, he slowly went for the door. He stopped and let his hand hover over the doorknob.

"Oh God."

He was sweating profusely and the doorknob felt slick after just a second of him holding it. He jerked the door open and peered outside. There was no trace of the bodyguard, or anyone, for that matter. He slowly backed into the room and went for the phone, stretching his hand out to get it without taking his eyes off of the doorway. He didn't feel it in his hand and looked down.

"Oh God."

It had been ripped out and thrown onto the floor. He slowly went back outside and walked down the corridor. There were only two other doors on this floor, the best floor in the building. High-rise condos with respectable people that were sure to be able to help. He knocked on both doors and waited. Nothing. He couldn't hear anything but his own heartbeat.

"No, no, no, no."

He slammed against the first door with all his might. Nothing.

The cellphone! He rushed back into his condo, gun aimed ahead, moving like cops always did in the movies. The cellphone was gone as well. Of course.

"Please, no. This can't be happening."

He heard a quiet giggle come from the bathroom. Taking a second to breathe, and unwittingly, to let the terror sink in, he tried in vain to steel himself. He moved toward the room, an inch at a time. He was shaking wildly now.

He opened the door and tried flicking the switch. Nothing. The light from the living room didn't quite dispel the darkness, but he could see the shower curtains were drawn. The room was silent. Nathan slowly approached the curtains and moved his hand to pull them back, ready to shoot whatever might appear behind them.

POP!

The lights in the entire apartment went out, leaving the bathroom pitch-black. The curtains were drawn back with a loud rustle, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of his heart, which seemed to be going faster than humanly possible. He jumped back in fright and shot twice at the curtains, the flashes from the gun lighting the room temporarily, revealing a deathly pale face grinning at him. The pale apparition kicked the gun from his hand and barked with laughter, its face mere inches from his ear.

He ran out of the darkness with a scream, the haunting laughter rising in volume with each step he took. He rushed out of his apartment and slammed against the door of the elevator, frantically slamming at the buttons. Within seconds it opened, revealing his bodyguard standing with his hands behind his back, a strange looking woman by his side.

"Help me!"

The bodyguard lowered his gaze to meet his eyes. "Paradise", he replied. Then he moved his hands from behind his back, revealing a wicked looking dagger. Nathan dropped backwards to the ground with a whimper.

"Paradise", the bodyguard kept muttering, a vacant smile on his lips as he crouched to restrain Nathan's hands.

The strange woman stepped forward and took the dagger. She kneeled on top of him and raised both hands in the air, the blade gleaming in the light.

"Return to the soil that birthed you, child. It's time to pay for your crimes."

She brought the dagger down, piercing his stomach. He screamed as she repeatedly stabbed him, the mutterings of his bodyguard droning on in his ear.

"Paradise. Paradise. Paradise. Paradise."

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AN: This isn't too refined, but I felt I should keep my self-imposed deadline.

In both BB and TDK there were villains who wanted to topple society, Ra's al Ghul wanted to destroy a whole city and Joker was a bit of an anarchist. So I decided to carry on that trend, with Riddler's opinion of authority and Ivy's little revolution speech.

There's a little reference to my first story, but I think it's perfectly understandable even if you haven't read it.

The horror scene was much, much scarier in my imagination. I hope I'll get better at scary writing as time goes by. And don't worry, Ivy won't be doing too much physical work like this, she'll live up to her name later.

Please, tell me what you think. I may make changes to this chapter if I get good tips.


	3. Potter’s Field

AN: Sorry for the long delay. But the most draining four weeks of this year are now over, so there won't be another three week delay.

* * *

In a small cave in a large park in a mammoth city, Harley Quinn stood and stared at her friend. Said friend was busy cooing to her namesake, a poison ivy, and as such was no fun. Harley let her eyes wander over their outlandish surroundings. A moderately large cave, but still nowhere near big enough for all the bums that Ivy was housing. Depressed by the sight of the smelly, boring and annoying bums, she continued her inspection. She looked up at the roof of the cave, where occasional holes between the patches of dull gray and roots that had broken through let the sunlight in. If not for that precious light she would have gone mad from the annoying glow of Ivy's scary creeper vines that climbed along all the walls of the cave, illuminating everything in a blue light. She'd never even heard of glowing plants before. Not that she'd heard of such big water lilies like the ones in Ivy's little pond/sleeping quarters. Or of anything like those disgusting pods, pulsating whenever you bumped into 'em. Or those over-sized Venus flytraps that she was sure wanted nothing more than to chomp on her. And the goddamn vines that could actually move. One of those days she was sure to wake up to a vine squishing her like a boa constrictor. The whole place was simply eerie.

Just like Ivy was, she supposed. It was a good thing she'd had time with Mister J to grow immune to everyone scary, except for him. Green skin, holier-than-thou speeches, cooing to plants as if they were pets, wearing plants as clothing, while weird, was nothing compared to the strangeness of living with Mister J. Which they were going to rescue, according to Ivy, "any day now".

"Hey, Red. When **are** we going to rescue puddin'? Haven't we done enough for nature already?"

Ivy stopped whispering to her plants and turned her head to look at her.

"Soon, Harleen. But there's one more thing we have to do. We've punished one group of sinners, but thousands still remain. I need to send a message, something to make them all quake in their boots. I want to kill Roland Daggett."

Harley pouted. She had had just about enough of this.

"But you promised! You're always putting it off, saying we need to kill this one, then this one, then this one. You're a lousy friend!"

"True, I did promise. And I promise you again, I will help you. Just this one more, then we can rescue your… pudding."

Harley pouted again. Ivy was using the cooing voice on her, as if she were one of the stupid plants.

"Okay, but if it turns out you're lyin', I'm outta here faster than Bruce Wayne can spend a thousand dollars."

Ivy smiled her warmest smile, which admittedly didn't come off very warm. But at least she tried. And, Harley thought , it's the thought that counts.

"Hey, Red?"

"Yes?"

"Isn't it time ta get rid'a the bums? Find 'em some place else to stay? Please?"

"I don't see why not. I'm sure the neighborhood can be persuaded to act more kindly to the less fortunate."

Harley delivered her new best friend a hug that would have made a grizzly bear proud.

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In a quaint little home, where two jolly friends had spent many happy days drinking good tea and reciting passages from the magnificent book of wonders, Jervis Tetch had just finished going through his hat collection.

Now that he had tried them all, the day could begin in earnest. Deciding he wished to enjoy the company of the jovial doctor, the Mad Hatter left his homely abode in the abandoned amusement park.

If he knew the good doctor right, he was bound to be in the house of horrors. He marched towards it, greeting a few hatted guards that crossed his path. Pleased by their vacant expressions and lifeless answers, he slowed his pace. It was a beautiful day after all, and he had no reason to rush.

After knocking on the door for ten minutes, the good doctor opened the door with a pleased expression, as pleased an expression as one can have while wearing a burlap sack at least, and greeted him with a polite "What now?"

"Nice weather we're having, don't you think?"

The Scarecrow stared at him for a while.

"Very. What do you want?"

The Hatter peered into the darkness behind the good doctor, seeing a young woman who looked vaguely like Alice tied to a chair.

"Who is that charming young lady?"

"No one."

Jervis smiled.

"Quite the contrary, she most assuredly is someone. I didn't know you had a romantic side, Dr. Crane."

"Go away."

Jervis smiled wider.

"Why would you be so defensive? Wait! What is that?", he said as he raised a hand to his ear. "Do I hear wedding bells?"

The Scarecrow slammed the door, returning to his mysterious new friend.

The Mad Hatter trotted happily away. Love, oh love, he thought, is there anything sweeter in the world than love?

* * *

Roland Daggett was seated in a black limo, with tinted windows, burly bruisers, smarmy mobster, the whole shebang. He felt like a fish on dry land, but this had to be done.

"So, what exactly does an outstanding citizen like you need from us, Roland?", the suave mobster asked. His name was Giovanni Maroni, a distant relative of the late Sal Maroni and a man who held some sway in the family. He was also an old friend, if you were naive enough to think of someone like him as a friend.

"Someone's picking off my people, rattling my workers, scaring people away from the company. I need you to take care of it and I'm willing to pay good money."

Giovanni gave him a sly smile.

"I think you're confusin' us wit' the men in blue. You know, da 'protect and serve' crowd. They're the ones that solve murders, not us. And you're a respectable citizen, they should be happy ta help."

Roland scowled and waved his hand dismissively.

"You know as well as I do those guys are useless. They're just as scared as everyone else these days. They're not going to hunt down these freaks and monsters. They won't venture into the darkness to catch them, they just want the problems to stay out of view."

"But brave men like you are willing to do anything?"

Roland couldn't keep his annoyance from showing.

"This is not funny. This is not a joke. These people are out there. And these people are powerful. You're bound to clash with them sooner or later. And I'm willing to pay you to have it happen sooner."

There was silence for a short while, then the mafioso spoke up.

"You're being harassed by another syndicate?"

"No, Giovanni. These are Eco-terrorists. They're loopy tree-huggers, slaughtering people because we chopped down some trees. They will set their sights on you, if they have brains enough to figure out that you have your hands in dozens of companies, and none of them environment friendly. And they probably do, our operation down south wasn't exactly advertised. I wouldn't be surprised if this was yet another freak."

Giovanni just stared at him for a while, completely expressionless. Even the bruisers had given up on trying to look tough and were transfixed on their boss.

"Eco-terrorists. Strong enough ta bump off people in public. Weird enough ta bump a guy off at his home, while all his neighbors get a mysterious case of amnesia. Crazy enough to actually care about some stupid plants down in banana-land. Yeah, this is a freak, no question about it. I'll see what I can do. We'll talk about price later."

Roland was visibly relieved, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"I'm counting on you. Do this for me, for old times sake, if not for money or mutual interest."

"Enough wit da freaking speeches, Roland. I told you I'd do it. Now just wait till ya hear from us."

The limo stopped and he stepped out, raising his phone to call for his chauffeur. He watched the limo speed away with a grim smile. His sense of power had been restored.

"God damn tree huggers think they're scary? Just wait. Just wait."

* * *

Commissioner Gordon stood in a hallway teeming with cops, staring down at a white outline that had been drawn on the floor, droning off the details in his mind.

Nathan Redville, 46 years old, divorced. Stabbed seventeen times with an edged weapon, not found on the scene.

Respectable neighborhood, nothing common about the murder. Neighbors with no recollection of what they had been doing during the day, but they weren't seen at work or elsewhere so they were presumably in their apartments. Unless they were out in the hallway, murdering Mr. Redville.

So far, that was the only explanation that made any sense, however little. But it didn't feel right. A crime of passion perhaps, but how could no-one notice? And how could three hours pass without someone happening upon him?

"Hey, Commish!"

He looked up and saw the large form of Harvey Bullock exiting one of the apartments.

"What?"

"One of the neighbors says he had a bodyguard."

He gave a faint smile.

"Alright, let's look into it."

But he couldn't help but feel pessimistic about the lead. This case was not going to be a straight-forward affair, he was sure. There was something very strange about this case. Something….eerie. Yes, eerie was just the word for it.

* * *

Batman is perched on one of the city's many gargoyles, staring at the street below. A light drizzle comes down on him, running slowly down his cape before finally coming to its final destination on the pavement below.

The city is relatively quiet, considering both the Scarecrow and Joker's…associate are on the loose. The flow of smuggled weapons into the city has increased, although it is hard to imagine how that is possible, but the mob still isn't getting aggressive. No doubt stockpiling, preparing for the inevitable clash with that Penguin character. He's heard the name a few times, most often at the few smuggling shipments he's managed to stop. A new player, a new threat. He will discover who this is sooner or later. The only unusual occurrence is the Redville murder.

He had thought the case of the Daggett Industries poisoning was closed, but now he could see it was only beginning. The victims had all taken part in securing a deal with a hack-and-slash outfit. There was no other connection, it all came back to the deal. The most likely next target was none other than Roland Daggett himself, one of Gotham's richest citizens. And one of the more distasteful, but that was no excuse for letting him die.

He would get a guardian angel, no matter whether he deserved it or not. Everyone is equal, no-one will be left to fend for themselves. Not in this city.

But there is one thing that worries the Batman tonight. The homeless. They're all gone, not one of them visible on the streets. There is no explanation he can find for it. There is no new place for them to stay, no greener pastures to seek, nothing positive that can possibly explain their disappearance. If he knows his city right the so-called upper class would never even think about housing them. On the other hand, he also knows no-one would actually _remove_ them. They're probably fine. But he can't help but worry.

It is just past midnight but he has already stopped a mugging, a rape and a gang shootout. But he can't stop it all. He's merely putting bandages on a cancer sufferer. Helping the city take shaky baby steps to a better world. He can't possibly put an end to it all. Even now, something terrible is happening in his city and he can do nothing about it. He can almost feel it.

He swings off into the night, in search of Gordon. Maybe he knows something. And even if he doesn't, meeting a friend always lightens the burden.

* * *

She slowly opened her eyes, head throbbing and her heart pounding. Everything seemed distorted, she couldn't quite remember where she was or even who she was. The only thing she remembered was the emptiness, the fear and the pain. She'd lost control, been a prisoner inside her own mind. It seemed more like a nightmare than reality.

And now that she thought about it, so did her surroundings. She could see very little, but she could feel. Feel the freezing cold, the rope digging into the skin of her arms and legs, the cold sweat sliding down her forehead and the draft that made her shiver. But there was a light not far from her. A light, a table and someone. Someone she didn't want to see, even though she had no idea who he was. The light was swinging back and forth above him, repeatedly illuminating him and then casting him in shadow once more.

His back was turned to her and he was leaning onto the table, reading something and muttering to himself. He was clad in tattered rags that flitted around in the draft and he had something on his head, although it was hard to see what. There was something terrible about that man. She knew who he was, she was sure of it. She just couldn't place him.

Suddenly, without turning around, he spoke, jolting her in her seat.

"Ah, you're awake at last."

His voice was low, almost a whisper, but she heard every word perfectly. Her breath caught in her throat.

"It is time fore some...experiments."

She squirmed against her restraints. She had to get out of there.

"Don't be afraid. You should survive the process."

Oh Jesus. _Should_ survive?

"Do you know who I am?"

She didn't answer. She wasn't even sure if she was physically able to say anything if she wanted to.

"Funny, I don't know who you are either. Isn't that depressing?"

He walked off into the darkness and she could hear him close the window.

"Millions of people in this city and you just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You've done nothing wrong. For all we know, you might be a real saint."

We? There were more?

"You might have a lovely family that is worried sick about you. Do you think you'll ever see them again? I think so. One can never have too much hope. Hope."

She felt tears welling in her eyes.

"How would one live without hope? You don't know now, but I'll be sure to ask you again once the experiment is over."

He was walking around the room now, his progress made audible by the creaking of the floor.

"What will you do when you get free? Pay more attention to friends and family? Try to live life to its fullest? Or will this drain you, utterly break your spirit?"

He came to a stop directly behind her. She could hear him breathing.

"People are fascinating creatures. Exactly the same in so many ways, but when it comes to something like this, no-one's the same. You can truly see people when they're stripped of their power, their stature. In here, with me, everyone is equal. It's beautiful, really."

He put one hand on her shoulder and started drumming with his fingers in a jerky, spidery way.

"I will let you see yourself as you really are, possibly for the first time in your life. It's both terrible and wonderful, believe me. You just have to embrace it, draw strength from it. You must stay strong, must not break under the strain. But it's easier said than done. Just remember, only the mind can grant you true power."

He drew forth a syringe and held it still for her to see.

"When you wake up again, nothing will be the same. You will be all alone, with no-one to help you, nothing to comfort yourself with. Your mind will be bared, put on display, an open book. You will lose all inhibitions, all insecurities, all the lies. You will come face to face with yourself. All you need to do is survive."

She felt a sharp pain as the syringe plunged into her skin.

"Hope."

Everything went black.

* * *

AN: I'm not sure how things will work out in November, but in December my productivity is definitely going to increase.

The chapter names are all song names that have little or nothing to do with the story. But they can always be connected to the chapter, even if it is far-fetched.

The pulsating pods mentioned in the first section are from B:AA. I also imagine Ivy's appearance as pretty B:AA-esque

I hope it's clear that Mad Hatter's section is told from his point of view. I wanted to put a smidgen of humor in there and also show that even for a Batman-villain, this guy is loopy.

Sorry for the exposition-laden Batman section, I just felt the need to describe the situation. And I wanted it to be palpable that this is a real metropolis, there's constantly something big going on.

No Riddler section this time, sorry. He'll be back next time around.

* * *


	4. Share the land

AN: One last, short set-up chapter to get Ivy rolling. The thing that will justify my calling this a horror story will come in the next chapter, if all goes according to plan. So just bear with me this one last set-up chapter.

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock_, sounded from the door of a third-story apartment just by Robinson Park.

Inside, three girls turned their heads to look at the door, then at each other. After a quick battle of wills, one of them jumped to her feet.

"Fine, I'll do it. But if it's some lunatic you better come save me."

Anna cast a furtive glance out the window as she leaped to her feet. Right outside their apartment was that creepy park. She used to like the place but now it sent shivers up and down her spine. There was something wrong there, she was sure of it, no matter how much her friends teased her every time she brought it up.

She opened the door slightly, not unlocking the chain. Outside stood a group of filthy-looking people, their dull eyes all fixed on her.

"Uh, hello. Can I help you?"

The nearest man let out a wheezing cough before uttering his request in a voice she had a hard time understanding.

"Can we come inshide?"

She felt a sudden pang at the mere thought of having the group of filthy hobos inside.

"Uh, why?"

"Becush it's cold ouside."

She stammered for a moment before finally replying in what she hoped was a regretful yet firm voice.

"I'm sorry, I really am, but you can't. Goodnight."

She shut the door and turned around, hearing a muffled "Toldsh ya it wouldn' work" behind her.

Her two roommates were staring at her from the sofa.

"What the hell was that?!"

"I don't know, but I feel really evil now. Still, yuck."

Her two friends burst out laughing.

"I know! I swear I could smell them from here!"

They giggled some more before quieting down.

"How did they get into the hallway though?"

"Probably just pressed a bunch of doorbells until someone let them in without asking who it was."

They sat in an awkward silence for a while, their good mood gone for the time being. Suddenly a strangely melodic voice sounded from somewhere behind them.

"One of the many flaws of your civilization: This silly notion of property."

They all craned their necks in the direction of the sound. One of the windows had been opened and on the sill sat an unearthly beauty, staring at them with bright green eyes that almost seemed to glow.

"Even people considered normal or kind can show the coldest cruelty. Most do not wish to take on a burden and prefer to imagine that they are good people while doing nothing."

The stunning creature set her feet on the ground and walked towards them with unnatural grace. She smiled at them, an expression both wicked and angelic.

"Although, between us girls, I don't really care to much for those less fortunate. Beasts will be beasts, no matter their social status. But my army needs to be kept content for the time being. You can't inspire fervor just by snapping your fingers, after all."

Anna felt a bit woozy, even though she was sure she hadn't smoked anything that night. Still, she had to have taken something. She was looking at a green-skinned super model talking about social issues, for Christ's sake!

"It really is too bad my charms don't work as well on women. But then again, sacrifices must be made. Don't worry, I'll make it painless. After all, you have committed no great sin. You simply happened to be in the way."

The woman took one of her friend's head in her hands and kissed her, fairly deeply for someone she'd just met. Then she moved on to her second friend and did the same.

She took a step back from the weird superbabe.

"This is all pretty messed up. Don't take it personally but I really don't swing that way, honest. And if you could leave, that'd be pretty nice. No offenc…"

Her two friends collapsed to the floor, one after the other. The Martian, hallucination or whatever the hell it was took a step towards her.

"Poor baby. Wouldn't it have been much easier to go if you were devoid of understanding?"

She fell gracelessly on her rump, shaking like a leaf in the wind. The woman came closer.

"Wh-What's going on?"

The woman knelt down and kissed her. It was the sweetest kiss she had ever received. It was somewhere between a flower and the taste of spring, if spring actually had taste. In short, it was bliss.

The kiss ended and she felt her head cradled in the woman's soft hands. Her consciousness was slowly slipping away.

"It's alright. I'm here," the figure cooed from above. The comforting noises kept coming as she finally fell into a deep sleep, never to awake again.

The green-skinned woman stood and surveyed her handiwork with a pleased expression before going to the door to let the bums in.

"Make them disappear. I'll go clear out the rest of the building."

* * *

"**Hark! A slum, Amy. **"

The Riddler looked at her in anticipation, his smug grin in place.

"What? Oh, the asylum. What about it?"

"I was saying it wasn't conducive to mental health but you zoned out on me. Is there something bothering you?"

She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"No, it's nothing."

He tipped his head to the side.

"Liar. You're worried about that new doctor who went missing."

She tried her best not to look irritated. It seemed the guards were still feeding him information for money, despite her repeated complaints.

"Let's talk about your case instead, Edward."

He interrupted her, a coy tone permeating his words.

"Would you like to know where she is?"

She felt a shock, as if his words had reached out and jerked her from her unfocused state into complete awareness.

"You know something about this?"

"You could say that."

Another of his empty answers. She was getting used to him.

"In saying that, would I be wrong, Edward?"

His smile broadened, as if he was pleased with this response.

"No, **dare rodcot**, you would not. Ask away."

She reached for her recorder, switching it on for the first time since their first session. He was unlikely to give her straight answers, but if she understood him to the degree she thought she did, he would tell the truth.

"Very well. Was she kidnapped?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.

"That much is obvious. Ask something else."

"Did you have something to do with it?"

The grin was back, along with a mockingly innocent face.

"Falsely accused by my own alibi? What is the world coming to?"

"But you've bragged before that you have some sort of contacts on the outside, if I've understood you correctly."

"**In no cent**."

Strangely enough, she didn't doubt him, even if it seemed like a perfect way for him to make his stay in Arkham more interesting.

"Where exactly is she?"

His eyes left her, focusing on empty space.

"In a… **hate** **hound sue. Krap, meant muse."**

She'd lost him, but it didn't matter. She had it on tape. She could pore over it later.

"And who has her?"

"An old friend of ours and a new friend of his, called **The Mad Rat**. I'm not sure who gave him the name, but he most certainly is mad."

The mad rat? Criminals with weird nicknames was a rising trend these days, true, but still.

"Can you tell me who the mad rat is?"

"_I_ am not a rat."

So telling her his real name was saying too much. Maybe he had been in prison or even the asylum itself at some time.

"But who is this old friend? Batman?"

His voice took on a mournful tone.

"Ye**S**, I'm af**R**aid he finally snapped and has n**O**w de**C**ided to c**R**us**A**de against young **W**omen instead of **C**rim**E**."

She ignored his insults and went on with her questioning.

"Why did they kidnap her?"

"For fun, for science, out of madness, how should I know?"

Even if she understood nothing now, she was sure what he was saying made sense if you just knew where to look.

"Will they ransom her? If not, how much time do we have?"

"The curious blend of a realist and a dreamer won't worry too much about money. I'm not sure about the other gentleman. As far as I can tell they're both reasonably intelligent and not too interested in thrills, so no, a ransom demand is unlikely. Regarding your second question I have to say, with much sadness, that I simply don't know. Dear Miss James might die any minute and I'd be none the wiser."

She finished their session and contacted the police. _Hang in there, Emily._

* * *

Elsewhere, the Scarecrow's captive slowly awoke on the cold floor of the haunted house. She shakily got to her feet and peered around.

_Where the hell am I?_

Then it all came back to her. The creep with the syringe and his weird speech. As if on cue, a voice reached her ears.

"It all begins now."

She looked around, trying to figure out where the voice could have come from. She felt a bit weird. Her head felt both light and heavy and each time her heart hammered she felt a throbbing pain behind the eyes. Everything seemed slightly distorted, ordinary in appearance but teeming with…something underneath. As if the whole building was against her.

She took a few cautious steps forward, passing shuttered windows that would not budge before she made it to a door. It was locked, of course, and would not budge under her slight weight. She let out a deep, shuddering breath.

_Don't panic. As long as you stay on your toes nothing can_-

She got no further in her inner dialogue because the floor opened beneath her, dropping her into freezing water. She screamed at the icy cold, sputtering and heaving after swallowing a mouthful. Someone pulled up the trapdoor, blocking off all light.

After long moments of terror she started to regain control of her senses. She scratched the ceiling of the water-filled space, finally finding the trapdoor again. Something touched her leg, then disappeared. Her breathing hitched and she pulled frantically on the trapdoor before it fell down again, revealing the glorious light above.

She raised both hands onto the next floor and started crawling up. Something grabbed her leg and yanked her down into the darkness. She screamed into the water, clawing at the wall, trying to swim back up. She kicked blindly at her assailant, connecting once, twice, thrice before it finally let go. She shot out of the water faster than she thought herself capable of moving.

She crawled away from the hole in the floor, waiting for whatever was down there to crawl up like something out of a horror movie. Every now and then there came quiet splashes from the water and her heartbeat quickened in tandem. She felt like crying.

_This can_'_t be happening._

"Outside you may have drawn courage from those close to you. Most people are never brave when they're all by themselves. Are you one of those people? Will you give up and die?"

It seemed to come from all around her. Cruel and cold, inhuman in its indifference.

"Will you wallow in your misery, pray to a higher power, whine that you don't deserve this?"

She felt slightly ashamed that she had thought all of these things, no matter how natural it was.

"Do you think you'll be rescued? Or will you actually try to survive on your own?"

A weapon would be useful. A knife, a broken bottle, a bat, anything. She stood up, ignored the pain and fear and set off in search of something to defend herself with.

* * *

Harley looked around the cave, now completely devoid of bums, leaving them to tend to their gardening in peace.

"Ya really think no one'll suspect anything now that the bums have all moved into that apartment block? Ain't it just a wee bit suspicious?"

"The original inhabitants are now on our side and those who I can't control have been disposed of. Those that have disappeared won't be too severely missed for the next couple of days and by that time the authorities will have much bigger problems to worry about. And besides, they all look much better now that they've been able to clean themselves up. Along with the clothing my new subjects so generously provided they look perfectly normal. And the few who didn't get any new clothes will simply stay out of sight when not running errands."

Harley didn't look too interested.

"Sure, Red, that's real nice. So what now?"

Red's eyes seemed to glow as she answered the question.

"Now they can carry out my bidding in earnest. They will be my little plague-bearing rats, bringing nature's wrath upon this filthy city."

Harley gave her a small smile.

"And then we'll get Mistah J out?"

All enthusiasm evaporated from Ivy and her shoulders lowered a little.

"Yes, Harleen. Then we'll get _him_ out," she answered with a sigh.

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth set down his cup of tea and put on his reading glasses, just to be sure of what he was seeing. He read the article twice, then stared at the blurred photo. Satisfied that this was not an illusion, he went into the master's room and roused him, handing him the paper.

The master took some time to focus, his sleep-ridden countenance taking a full minute to register surprise. There on the front page, along with a blurry picture of a costumed person, stood the following:

**Batwoman! Batman's partner in crime?**

_ Priceless Cat's Eye emeralds stolen._

* * *

AN: Catwoman won't be a prominent figure in the story, I just wanted to end the chapter on a happy note.

The curious blend of a realist and a dreamer is Crane, he's a realist because he has similar opinions of everyone else as Riddler and a dreamer because he wishes to fully understand a facet of the human mind, which is a pretty lofty ambition.


	5. Little drop of poison

AN: Alright, so I've been slacking. Sorry. I'll probably go on slacking, as is my wont, throughout this most depressing of months. At least this is long, although whether that's a good thing or bad has yet to be determined.

* * *

A poorly-dressed man made his way into the subway early that day, just in time for rush hour. No one paid him too much attention, the homeless man was probably just seeking shelter from the chilly wind that blew outside.

But then he drew up a cigar and started puffing away, which did draw attention. The man walked back and forth and blew the smoke practically straight in the faces of the waiting crowd.

"Excuse me, you do know you can't smoke in here, don't you?"

The bum payed no heed.

"What the hell's your problem man?"

The bum payed no heed.

"Put that out, asshole!"

The bum payed no heed.

After a short wait a train arrived, then another and another until all the people were gone. All, that is, except the homeless man. He put out his latest cigar and left the premises.

In almost all of the most frequented subway stations in Gotham, similar events occurred, although many of the bums were thrown out by security after only a few puffs. But the damage was done.

"For the first few days," Ivy told her friend (who tried her best to look interested), "those people will feel like they've got nothing more than a cold. Then all of a sudden: respiratory collapse and it's all over. 97% mortality rate."

"Fascinatin', Red."

* * *

Dozens of people entered the malls of Gotham in the afternoon, looking perfectly ordinary in their new clothes. They milled around, going into many stores but buying nothing, coughing almost constantly.

"Some may cough blood and then it should be obvious that something is wrong and that medical attention is needed. But some won't and in 4 days they'll be dead. Some might even be pushing up the daisies in just 24 hours! This may be a bit obvious and not as good as the first one but it's still a classic."

"It sure is, Red. How'dja get 'em to do all these suicide attacks?"

"I didn't tell them they were infected. They believe they're signalmen, telling some mysterious ally about our plans. After their secret missions are accomplished they check themselves into various motels where they are to stay no matter what. And there they will wither and die. I'll tell the rest of my army that the enemy got them. Telling my followers it was some unnamed forces out to get us should work just fine to get them riled up, don't you think?"

"Yeah, Red."

* * *

At four in the afternoon, Poison Ivy herself would infiltrate a GothamGoods plant where cans of food, mainly soup, were packaged. Sooner or later, people would start feeling the effects of this little incursion.

"Not too effective and I don't expect too many casualties. Still, it will completely destroy the company's name and that's one more corporation off the map."

"…."

"Harley?"

* * *

Roland entered the building and immediately spotted Giovanni. He walked over to him in long strides, hoping to God that no one noticed him. He watched the low-lives surrounding him out of the corner of his eye, feeling dirty for being there.

He sat down next to the mobster, who raised his glass at him before turning his attention back to the stripper on stage. Roland tapped him on the shoulder to get him to turn his focus elsewhere.

"Why exactly did we have to meet here?"

He wasn't sure if he had been heard over the loud music of the club, but eventually the man answered.

"What? Don't like tits?"

He gritted his teeth at the scumbag's in-eloquence.

"What if someone sees me? My reputation will be shattered!"

The mobster pursed his eye and grinned.

"If someone accuses ya of bein' somewhere ya shouldn't be, it means _they've_ had their hands in the cookie jar as well. Lighten up."

Roland slumped back in defeat. He needed this man's help, no matter the cost, fiscally or socially.

"I just don't like being seen in the company of cheap prostitutes."

"Look, Rollie, mind if I call you that? Good. Look, don't look down your nose at those girls. Everyone's a hooker in some way, everyone's for sale. It's just the price tag that shows the difference between people. You, for example, are sellin' yaself to the media, keepin' away from things ya want just because it'd ruin your image. I'm loyal to my boss and all, but if someone scarier and more powerful were ta come down on me, I'd bow down ta that guy, I'd sell myself. Only difference between us an' those girls up there is they're hot and we're not."

"A charming philosophy, Giovanni. Can we get to the point?"

The mobster set down his glass and hunched over, leaning closer to Roland.

"Sure we can. The boss has given the green light on this thing. I get plenty of soldiers to take care o' this and we'll get the job done. The price is gonna be high though, so get ready ta crack open your piggy-bank. Then we'll make 'em disappear."

* * *

She sat down opposite him and leaned forward, letting her elbows rest on the table.

"Our session will be interrupted today, Edward. The commissioner himself and some of his detectives are outside and they would like to have a word with you. I will remain in here in the meantime."

"Oh, my!" he raised his hands and flapped a hand at his face as if trying to cool off, a gesture made quite awkward by the handcuffs. "How flattering."

The police officers entered the room in file: First the commissioner, a coffee-cup in hand and the authority simply wafting off of him. Second came a broad fellow that looked unkept enough to be mistaken for one of the inmates if not for his regular clothes. Last, but certainly not least, came a Hispanic-looking woman with a serious expression. The commissioner spoke up as he took a seat by the table.

"These are detectives Bullock and Montoya. You no doubt remember me."

The Riddler's grin grew slightly before he replied.

"How could I ever forget the brave and bold commissioner who did not rest until he had stopped me? You and your fellow officers here acted quite valiantly in my apprehension, or so I'm told."

The commissioner took a sip of his coffee and the room stayed silent for a while. Joan let her her eyes wander between the people in the room, taking in the gruntled expressions on Montoya and Bullock, the stoic look on Gordon's face and the familiar arrogant air of the Riddler.

"We're told you know something about a recent disappearance. So far you've told us she's being held in a haunted house in an amusement park. We've got people searching locations that fit the criteria but more information would be helpful."

The Riddler raised one eyebrow.

"I seem to recall giving you much more than that. I expected more from the brilliant minds of the Gotham P.D."

Gordon took another sip of his coffee, ignoring the insult.

"How did you come by this knowledge?"

"Telling you would be rather foolish, wouldn't it?"

The commissioner put the coffee down and leaned forward, staring into the felon's eyes.

"Then tell me, how do we know you're not lying?"

The Riddler drummed lightly on the table with his fingers and stared into the other man's eyes as he answered.

"A game is in session. And there are rules, one of which is: I. Never. Lie."

Detective Bullock threw his hands in the air with an exasperated expression.

"Oh, I guess that settles it! If the loony says so, it must be true!"

The smile returned as the Riddler turned his gaze to the detective.

"Quiet, dear, adults talking."

Bullock's face reddened.

"I'm older than you, ya sleazebag."

The sleazebag smiled politely at the detective.

"I am aware. Thank you."

Gordon rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Enough with the childish insults. I've got questions and you might just have answers. Who is the mad rat? Who is the old friend? Who's a realist and a dreamer? Where exactly is this hideout? Can you give us straight answers? Suppose I know the answer to that one already."

"It would be no fun if I just explained it. Instead I'll just give you more. **The** **Mad Rat** **slicees piza** **inn dim trol-con**. Hard to believe, I know."

The officers stared at him with puzzled expressions, although the commissioner was rather successful in masking his confusion. The Riddler went on unperturbed.

"The other one, let's see. **Silke far end a retrro.**"

"Silky what? Tell me again how this is a good idea, commish?", Bullock muttered.

Montoya finally spoke."Anything else you can…tell us?"

"Not now, no. This concludes your interrogation," he clasped his hand over his mouth suddenly. "Where are my manners? This concludes your _word with me_. Right, Joan?"

Gordon took another sip of his coffee.

"No, I'd like to keep you a bit longer."

This was the only thing they had at the moment. Suffering through this nonsense would be worth it if it lead anywhere. Denying the Riddler what he wanted felt good as well, no matter how childish it was.

* * *

Officers Randall and Murphy drove their car up the old driveway, looking around at the decaying amusement park.

"Creepy fuckin' place."

The car came to a stop and they exited their vehicle.

"Keep your eyes open. If that tip isn't just some stupid joke this could be dangerous."

Murphy nudged his partner.

"Look, there's someone there."

And so there was. A short man with a large hat stood facing the wall of a shed, holding what appeared to be a teacup.

"Excuse me! Sir!", Randall shouted at the man, who showed no response.

"Creepy fuckin' place," he muttered again as they started walking towards the man. He kept his hand close to his holster.

As they came nearer it sounded like the man was talking. To the wall. As they came up to him, the man finally seemed to notice them and turned to face them with a big smile on his face. It seemed wrong, somehow. Hollow, like the smile of someone who didn't really know how to smile. Or when.

"Can I see some I.D.?"

The man's smile didn't waver.

"I'm afraid I don't have any."

"What are you doing here?"

"Living."

Randall's eyes met Murphy's. The dude was freaking him out. Gotta be a loony.

"What's your name?"

The man didn't answer right away. His eyes wandered, like he was thinking hard to find the answer to the question.

"Jonathan. Jonathan Crane."

They both flinched slightly in surprise. Obviously a loony, but maybe he knew something. Throwing around the name of the second most wanted man in the city warranted interest.

"You'll have to come down to the station with us, sir."

"Oh, dear. There seems to be a problem."

The man put his hands behind his back and stood on his toes, wagging back and forth.

"Hands where I can see 'em!"

Randall moved to restrain the freak, but his partner grabbed his shoulder before he could take more than a single step.

"Uh, Rand?"

"If I were to go with you, what would become of my friends?", the weird man asked, emphasis in all the wrong places.

They drew their guns and aimed at the dozen men that had snuck up from behind.

"Stay back! Get down on the ground!"

The men took slow, hesitating steps towards them and their faces showed no sign of hearing. Or anything for that matter.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Get down or I shoot!"

"By all means, shoot. Whatever it takes to make you comfortable", the freak piped up.

The men started clawing for his gun and Randall panicked. He shot once, twice, and one man fell. None of the other men showed any response, the one he shot didn't even wince, just fell to the ground without muttering a sound. He fired again and again and another fell.

"Shoot, you idiot, shoot!", he screamed at Murphy.

No response. Randall jumped back and got a good look at his partner. Murphy was walking towards him slowly, a completely blank look on his face.

"What the fuck?!", Randall half-cursed, half-whimpered under his breath.

Someone slapped something on the back of his head and he stopped. He couldn't move, not even his eyes. He screamed, but no sound left his lips.

* * *

Emily plowed on heroically, peering around frantically, itching to find the evil she knew to be there and beat it to a pulp. Even if it was scary, if it was tangible it'd be better than the creepiness that permeated the whole house but didn't really manifest itself anywhere. Being unable to discern what exactly was making her skin crawl was driving her nuts.

She looked down at the broken table leg she held in her hand. Just beating on something would put to rest this feeling of helplessness. She would not give her tormentor the satisfaction of watching her stumble around in blind fear. She would regain control.

She set her eyes on a ominous-looking door and walked over to it, the creaking of the floorboards under her feet reminiscent of the groans of a dying man. A firm push and the door swung open, revealing dense darkness and stone stairs leading lower into the house.

After just a few steps the cold assaulted her. This was one of those rooms that stay cold no matter what the temperature is outside. Like a wine cellar. Although judging by what she had seen of the house already, this room was more likely to house a lab filled with body parts or bottles of blood instead of wine.

The perfect place for the monster of the mansion to stay. The perfect place to go to prove to him or it that she was not afraid. The perfect place to convince herself of that fact.

She reached the last step and peered around. With only the dim light from the staircase the only thing she could see was velvety darkness. Strange noises cut through the room. _The labored breathing of a monster_, her imagination whispered.

Inching closer into the darkness, one hand gripping her weapon and the other stretched out, she came in touch with something smooth and soft. Curtains. She reached down and pulled it up enough for her to slip through.

Here, there was one source of light. A strange glass cage stood next to a wall. It was about the size of a full-grown person, with tubes attached to the top. Dull light shone from the roof of the cage, down onto its inhabitant. Emily walked closer, cringing at every shuddering breath that came from the cage.

It was a burly man dressed in leather, with dark hair and a tattoo of a skull with a snake poking out of its socket on his right forearm. A vicious scar was visible on the right side of his face. He would have been physically imposing under normal circumstances. Now he lay curled up in a fetal position, his eyes vacant and his breath hitching.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

She put her hand to the glass and waited. He showed no sign of hearing.

"I'm going to get help. You'll be okay."

Her words felt hollow. How exactly was she going to save anyone? If someone as big and strong as this couldn't stand up to the monster, how could she?

She kept going, walking through the darkness until she came to another curtain. Behind this one was another glass cage. Its captive was a short man in rather formal wear, as if he had been having just a normal day at the office before finding himself here. He stood in the middle of the cage with his arms around himself. There was a pained expression on his face and he kept fidgeting slightly, as if he was trying to distance himself from the room around him.

She walked up to the glass, close enough to the light from the cage for him to see her. He flinched visibly and his mouth started quaking, like a child struggling not to cry.

"Please! I'll do anything, I can pay you, I won't tell a soul, I swear! I swear!", he spoke, his voice quavering.

"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you. I can help you.", she replied in her best soothing voice.

He fell to the floor, shivering madly.

"Please don't! Please don't! I can't take it, I can't take it! I-"

"It's okay, it's okay, calm down."

He was screaming now.

"Please, God no! Stop it! Stop it! No!"

She fled, driving through the next curtain to escape the terrified wailing. The man stopped screaming but she could hear him sobbing loudly behind the curtain.

The inhabitant of this section of the dreary cellar addressed her as soon as he saw her, his voice sounding somewhere between nervous and angry.

"Oh, look! It's someone come to save me! How great!_ And utterly believable_.", the last words were muttered and barely audible.

"Uh, yeah. I can try to help.", she started in a shaky voice, her mind reeling.

"Well, I'll be! Isn't that just wonderful?! I think it's really wonderful!"

She couldn't quite figure out what to say, could do nothing but stutter.

"What is this? The fourth time? Seriously, you keep getting worse every single time. I really suck at hallucinating stuff, huh? You don't feel the least bit real. Well, better luck next time!"

"I-I'm not a hallucination."

"Oh, really?! I guess that settles it! Hah! No doubt about it then, freedom's just around the corner. I know this because you, dear hallucination, have proved without a doubt that you are not a hallucination. Can't you just get the hell out of here and stop playing tricks on me?!"

She moved away slowly, glancing back as she left.

"But what is this?! Gasp! It leaves! But who will rescue me now? Oh, woe is me! Hahahaha!"

She hurried away and under the next curtain.

The next cage stood a short way off, inhabited by a skinny young woman wearing a cheap red dress. She was spinning slowly in circles, tracing her finger along the glass of her cage. She was singing softly to herself, the lyrics broken up occasionally by mad little laughs and sobs.

Emily, still shaken from her last encounters, decided not to agitate the woman. She stumbled forward in the darkness until she reached the next curtain. Beyond that one was yet another cage, this one holding a woman in her fifties that looked like she lived on the street. She was muttering something in a raspy voice, shaking her head frantically.

"_Scarecrow. Scarecrow. Scarecrow._"

She felt her blood run cold. The woman kept on muttering in her cage.

"_Scarecrow_", the former head of Arkham Asylum that had been held in great esteem by others in his profession.

"_Scarecrow_" who had tortured his patients in the name of science.

"_Scarecrow_" who had been brought back to the asylum as a patient, shattered by his own abysmal toxins.

"_Scarecrow_" who had broken free and vanished from the face of the earth.

"_Scarecrow_" who's name used to be Jonathan Crane. A man, not a monster.

That wasn't right. "_Scarecrow_" who delighted in tearing people's minds apart. A monster.

"_Scarecrow_", a monster disguised in human flesh.

She ran blindly away, through numerous curtains, passing cage after cage. Her passing terrified them and in moments the cellar was filled with screams and cries. Finally she came to the end of this ride of horror. Instead of a curtain there was a wall and in the middle of the wall was a door. She clawed at it with trembling hands, trying to ignore the shrieks of the person inside the last cage.

She failed. The thumping on the glass proved too much and she glanced at it. Blood splattered over the glass every time the prisoner slammed his hands and his head against the glass. She finally got the door open and ran up the stairway behind it, away from the screams and the blood, towards whatever darkness and horror awaited her. She heard gunfire in the distance and the sound of a door being slammed, but her mind could not fully register it. Tears poured down her cheeks and she trembled as she ran on.

* * *

"Will you keep it down?!", the Scarecrow hissed in greeting as he stormed out of his haunted house. He let his eyes wander over the corpses on the ground, then settled his seething gaze on the Mad Hatter.

"Why are there dead bodies on the ground?", he added in an icy tone.

"Well, you see, there was a little accident, that is…", Jervis started, trying hard to come up with a good response.

"I'm trying to conduct an experiment here and all factors must stay under my control. That means I don't want any outside noise to interfere."

"But wait, I can explain!"

"Please do.", the masked landlord replied.

"What would you do if you had two moles in the GPD?"

"I'd make sure I wasn't found. Now, I'm going back to my experiment and you are going to stay quiet. I don't want to be disturbed, least of all for the sake of your amusement. If you've got hypothetical questions answer them yourself. And please refrain from violently diminishing my workforce."

* * *

After all of Red's holy war poisonings and speeches were over, they finally got around to the important stuff. Harley stuff. Red was probably the best pal she'd had ever since embarking on her criminal career, but the friendship had its downsides, mostly in the yadda yadda.

And the fact that driving anything but a hybrid was a big no-no, Harley reflected sourly as she navigated the crappy little tin can through the streets of Gotham. There were four of them in the car: her, Red and two hookers (former, Red insisted, but Harley doubted anyone would dress like that on a regular day). She thought nothing of Red's friends. After all, the woman was anything but normal so it was only natural to assume her taste in friends would be the same.

They were on their way to meet some of Mistah J's old gang. Even if they had just barely survived, everyone knew that Mistah J paid more than anyone, so she was sure they'd be ready to take some risks to get their old boss out.

Harley hummed loudly as she peered around the streets, to make up for the absolute silence of her three companions. She glanced at them and opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it once she caught sight of their vacant expressions.

After driving through the countless identical streets of the Narrows for half an hour, she finally found the place. A run-down little toy store that no sane parents would ever allow their children to visit. The only thing that kept the place from closing were the generous contributions of a certain pasty-faced Samaritan.

She parked the car a short distance away and the motley crew got out of the car, making their way to the back door. It creaked loudly as she swung it open, causing a dozen or so faces inside to perk up.

Harley put a bubblegum in her mouth and started chewing loudly while the door slammed shut behind her. The gang didn't look as ecstatic as she had hoped. Her three companions stood behind her, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

"Hiya, guys.", she offered in greeting.

"Hey, Harley.", one of them answered, standing in front of the group, acting as leader. "What's this about?"

She blew a little bubble that popped loudly in the quiet of the backroom.

"I'm gonna bust Mistah J out. I want you to help."

A bunch of the guys chuckled among themselves.

"Joker isn't the top dog anymore, Harley. The mob wants him dead. And the mob's got power. He ain't too scary when he's behind bars."

She kept on chewing, disinterest showing on her face. The goon went on.

"They've got people watching the nuthouse, to stop 'im from gettin' out. They're gonna cap him sooner or later. They'll pay good money for his head."

He was walking towards her now, slowly and menacingly. Harley fought the urge to groan or roll her eyes.

"And guess what, Harley. They'll pay for you as well. Your head's worth 500 grand."

He was only inches away now, staring down at her with a stupid grin on his face.

She blew another bubble and looked up at him. The bubble burst and his grin evaporated, replaced by surprise and pain. He fell heavily to his knees, hands clutching the knife that had appeared in his gut.

She raised her hand and pushed on his forehead, sending him tumbling to the ground, gasping in pain. The rest of the goons reached for their weapons and she, in turn, moved to grab her twin Uzi's.

The first shots were hers, managing to down two goons before she leapt behind a handy crate for cover. As she reloaded she saw that someone was not getting with the program. Red and the hookers hadn't moved an inch.

It seemed like the thugs were just as confused as she was, because they didn't gun the trio down on the spot. Harley made frantic gestures with her hands to make her friend understand that the things that went BLAM were dangerous.

"Hey, bitches", one of the traitors said, "get over here if you don't wanna get killed. I'm sure we can find something for you to do after we kill the crazy chick."

Red looked at the hookers with a pleased little smile and they responded by taking their jackets off and walking towards the thugs. The gang laughed and hoot-called.

"Alright! Come on out, Harley, wherever you are. There's ten of us. You can't win. I promise it won't hurt. And we'll take _good_ care of your friends."

Harley did not answer, nor did she chew her gum. She simply stared slack-jawed at the naked back's of the hookers, or whatever they were. They both had horrible wounds that…no. Not wounds. Just four holes in their lower backs, where something green lay coiled.

When they left her view and got closer to the thugs she stared at the empty space where they had stood, before peering through a crack between the two crates she was hiding behind. A goon was fondling the breasts of one of the hookers.

"Nice."

And those were to be his last words. Something sprang from one of the holes in the hooker's back and stabbed right into the startled thug's throat. The other woman followed suit and soon eight monstrous…appendages, if you could call them that, were slashing away at the group of goons.

"Stop.", Ivy's voice sounded through the frenzy and the two women froze.

Harley stood up and continued staring. Five of the goons were dying on the floor, two were standing paralyzed and looked like they were seconds from crying. The remaining three were all in various states of being throttled by the thorned tentacles.

Ivy beckoned Harley closer. Slowly, she complied. As she got closer, she recognized them: those were the creepy moving vines that were all around the cave. Except they were grafted onto people.

"So," Poison Ivy began, "do you still want them? Or should we kill them?"

Harley looked down at one of the guys, his face red on account of the vine coiled around his neck and his terrified eyes trained on her.

"Weeeeeell…"

"Please!", one of the goons that were still unscathed said, "We're sorry, okay? Screw the mob! You're the boss. Name it and we'll do it!"

A bright smile lit up her face. She'd almost lost hope of a happy ending when they started shooting at her.

"Hokey-dokey! You can start by gettin' rid'a the corpses!", she beamed at them.

"S-sure", the ones that were standing shakily walked to their fallen comrades, their wide eyes focused on the pair of unnatural killers that stood there with a eerie calm, completely ignoring them.

"The others will need an antidote or they'll be dead within 24 hours. We'll have to bring them home."

"Ya think there's room in the car, Red?"

Ivy put a hand on the hookers' shoulders.

"I'll leave my darlings here with the other two. It should keep them in line. We wouldn't want them skipping town, now would we?"

Harley twiddled her tassels.

"So, uh, what are those things?"

"Hmm?"

"The girls."

"What about them?"

"What about? About the chunks missin' from their backs and the freakin' killer tentacles, what the hell do ya think I'm askin' about?"

"Oh, I met them a few days ago. They didn't look so good, so I took them in. And improved them."

Harley couldn't help the widening of her eyes.

"By…by chopping 'em up and stuffing 'em?! How are they even alive?"

Ivy seemed a bit miffed at the harsh tone her voice was taking on.

"I removed a few unnecessary organs, that's all. They've adapted to a, shall we say, greener lifestyle. They no longer need stomachs or intestines so why keep them? Their new body parts function much better."

She'd thought she had seen everything, that she couldn't be shaken anymore, but this was disgusting. Surreal.

"Like Frankenstein's monster. Did they actually agree to this?"

"Maybe not this exactly, but to my offer of help, yes. They've never been happier, I can assure you."

"An' how's that, Red? They don't really look happy ta me."

She sometimes got the same feeling with pudding, but he could always make her feel better, show her he was right in the end. Red just wasn't the same.

"Their grafts are capable of producing various chemicals and inject them into their bloodstream to alter their state of mind."

"They're drugged?"

Ivy waved her hand in a dismissing manner.

"You make it sound ugly, Harleen."

"It is, Red!"

The noise of a car could be heard from outside as they stared at each other silently, probably the gang driving off with the stiffs. The others were still in the room, looking sickly as they listened to the argument.

"This is war, Harley.", Red said and stared at her ,"A holy war. I cannot afford squeamishness or sympathy for my enemies. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good. It's understandable to feel bad for the vermin as you exterminate them, but it must be done."

Harley bit her lower lip as she stared. Maybe Red wasn't all that balanced.

"I…I think I need to be alone for a bit. I'll go find my own place, somewhere around here. I know where to find you when I'm ready to go on with my plan."

She made for the door but Ivy rushed to it ahead of her, barring her way.

"I can understand if my methods disturb you. I suppose that's natural. But…," her expression changed, the holier-than-thou attitude evaporated and she seemed vulnerable and very much human, "..do you hate me now?"

She stood there for a while, seriously pondering the question.

"No."

Ivy sighed and opened the door for her, but still stood in her way, looking like she had something more to say. Upon seeing Harley's horrified expression, however, she whirled around in the doorway.

* * *

Batman stood there with a grim expression on his face. He'd been on patrol when he heard the report of gunfire on the police frequency. He'd been too late to catch them in the act, the tire tracks in the mud of the driveway showing clearly that the crooks had made a clean escape.

He had moved to investigate the scene before the police arrived. Then the door had opened and he found himself face to face with a strange looking woman, Harley Quinn standing gaping behind her. Behind Harley there was blood.

Before he could act, the woman in front wrapped her arms around his neck, catching him off guard. A strange scent filled his senses and he could almost feel his mind slowly dulling in the seconds that followed. Something was very wrong.

"If it isn't the Batman!", the woman said, her voice music to his ears.

"Uh, Red…", he could faintly hear Harley start in the distance.

"The killer of Harvey Dent and the city's worst enemy.", the red-head went on. He was dazed, but he knew he had to do something.

"..that ain't gonna…"

"Would you like to add more to your list of victims? We'd make a fantastic team."

His body finally responded and his fist shot out, connecting squarely with the woman's face.

"…work.", Harley finished lamely.

Having broken free, he proceeded to rush Harley. His mind was still reeling and he was acting on nothing but instinct. His moves felt sluggish and the fact that Harley dodged all of his attacks proved it.

A sharp pain ran down his cheek as the first woman's nails raked his skin.

Stupid. He hadn't even noticed her standing up again. There was something wrong, something throwing him off kilter. He pushed her out of his way and scrambled clumsily through the door. He had to get away.

A few blows from Harley and garbled commands shouted into his radio later, the Batmobile came to the rescue, nearly running down his opponents who scampered away, giving him time to crawl into the armored vehicle. His vision reeled as the car rushed down the street, towards the safety of the cave.

* * *

Harley clambered to her feet and tried to wipe off the mud that now covered her clothes.

"Yuck."

Gazing down the dark street she could see the Bat was well away. Too bad.

Red stood shakily a few feet away, sputtering as the blood flowed freely down her face.

_Huh, she really does bleed red._

"Don't worry, Red, it's not broken. You're real lucky, normally he breaks it. Maybe he didn't wanna hurt a lady or somethin'."

Red garbled something about "that brute" being as good as dead anyway. Poisoned fingernails, only twenty four hours to get an antidote. And even then he'd still be out for days.

Harley stared up at the sky, gazing at the few stars that were barely visible. She smiled and breathed in the relatively fresh air of spring. Life was crazy.

* * *

AN: The anagrams are particularly nasty today so here are they are in plain English: Meathead. Mad Hatter specializes in mind control. Likes fear and terror. Riddler also references the prequel to this story, where Batman apprehends him. Seeing how Batman is still a no-no publicly, the cops take the credit.

Obviously this story is not at all meant to be realistic. Poison Ivy's meddling with human anatomy is not too thought out, just meant to be a squicky image. The biological warfare found in the beginning of the chapter can all be found on wikipedia and should be rather easy to recognize.


	6. Dreams to Remember

AN: Ooops, more than a month since the last update. In my defense, school has been especially sadistic these last few weeks.

* * *

"I had a dream last night.", she whispers to the morning sky, "A terrible dream that showed me unspeakable evil."

She breathes in the late spring air. It's early morning and the cars have yet to come out in full force and spoil the air.

"I dreamed I saw the earth, harried by a horrible plague that covered almost every inch of land that rose from the sea. At first the outbreak seemed small, insignificant. But as millennia passed, the darkness spread. Across continents, through the largest of forests, over the lush plains. Wherever it went, the Green suffered. Nature screamed and bled, cried and fled, but the plague followed it, hunted it down wherever it went. Even the proudest forests and jungles were not left untouched. Decay settled upon the world and the air became putrid with the stench of death."

The sun has risen, but it hides timidly behind the clouds.

"I woke up in a cold sweat and the desire echoed through my mind, a desire expressed by the old life that once ruled the world but is now cowed by the filth. One desire that overrules all else, one unquenchable thirst that urges me on. It's a signal of the beginning of a new awakening. One precious want that speaks of the ultimate truth, the only meaning of life. A need humanity itself feels, but cannot properly express or explain. But there is a word that comes close. And it repeats itself constantly in my mind."

_Grow._

"We will."

Her feet come lightly down onto the dry grass with every step, her skin taking in the incomparable softness. The sun slowly moves from behind a cloud and beams happily down at its favorite child.

Her park is quiet, completely devoid of the tainting presence of the animals who only weeks before sullied this haven within the murky city. The only sounds are the rustling of leaves and grass as a soft breeze blows.

She wants to stay here forever, close herself off completely from the dirty city around her. But she cannot. If she does nothing, the earth will be defiled even further, until nothing remains. Not even her park.

The earth pleads for help and she cannot ignore it. And the riches that await her if she succeeds add further incentive. She can restore nature to its former glory. The whole world can become as pure as this place. The air will no longer be rotten, the ground will be liberated from the filth that now covers it.

A lofty ambition, seemingly impossible in theory. But with her unwavering faith and determination, this noble goal can be achieved.

Humanity can have a place in the new order. They can become one with nature once more, as guardians and keepers under her tutelage.

It will still be a bloody deed. Cities will not crumble just because she wishes so. Even with the help of the Green, the current empires are formidable adversaries. They cannot be engaged openly. She must strike from within, allow her enemies to destroy themselves. Twice before has Gotham been on the verge of falling, on the verge of tearing itself apart from fear and chaos. Give it a little push and it will topple.

The sun retreats back behind the clouds and rain starts trickling down. She watches calmly as the drops pound on her skin.

Gotham will fall and the country will follow. The rivers will run red, the ground will feed on the life of the people. Everything must fall.

And from the ruins a new, better world will arise. She will take the survivors under her wing and lead them into a new era. The charred ruins of the cities will bow to nature, the land will return to its former glory.

She smiles up at the clouds as they weep with joy.

"Yes, paradise is coming."

But first things first. The first blow has been dealt to the city. Now she must engage the mob, whip them into a frenzy, make the city a war zone. And then she'll punish Roland. And the rest of the sinners will cower at her feet.

* * *

They brought him in as usual and he sat down, staring at her as the orderlies left the room. There was no smile this time. He looked almost irritated, as if his confinement was finally getting to him.

"So. Let's go over what we know," he started.

She stared back, a questioning look on her face.

"Born in 1980 in a little town in West-Virginia. Got her masters in psychology not long ago from Virginia State, was accepted at Arkham out of necessity, rather than actual accomplishments."

"Lives or lived, depending on the circumstances, on the newly named Surillo Memorial Street. Fairly nice neighborhood, not close to the Narrows or any of the more dangerous places."

"Who told you all this?!", she snapped at him as she realized what he was talking about.

She was aware that Arkham was hardly a squeaky clean institution at the moment, but she had thought there were limits to everything. Apparently this was not the case.

"So where was she taken? There was no evidence of a break-in and the mail hadn't been touched since the day she was last seen, so we can safely assume she wasn't taken at her home."

She stood up, hands clenched at her sides. They said they had tightened security after he last displayed knowledge of the outside world that he was not supposed to possess. And now someone had fed him information about her colleague, which he was currently using as a form of amusement. A joke or a, a stupid game.

"It's impossible to know if she always went the same route home, but do we know if she regularly stopped at some place? A waiter at a coffeehouse told the police he'd seen her that day. The coffeehouse is much closer to her house than Arkham so that decreases the size of the area where she could have been…"

"Edward, I'm going.."

"…abducted. It's not certain she was nabbed on her way home, mind you, but it's a possibility."

"Edward, will you please let me fi…"

"The first thing I'd try to discern was whether it was premeditated or whether it was a spontaneous decision on the kidnapper's part. It's possible he just saw an opportunity and grabbed it. If you saw, right in front of you, a promising subjec…"

"Edward!"

He finally shut up, but he didn't flinch at her raised voice. She wasn't quite sure why that felt like a disappointment.

"I want you to stay here, Edward. I don't know who is responsible for supplying you with information, but it's going to stop. I'm going to search your cell and I'm going to talk to my superiors. Your obnoxious little game is over. I've had more than enough of this."

She stormed off after telling the orderlies to stay with him. She scoffed. Judging by this latest show of incompetence she wasn't even sure if she could trust them to do that.

She marched down the dark corridors, quietly fuming inside. She reached the employee lounge and fetched the Chief of Security. He looked slightly flustered at the snappish tone in which she requested his assistance. The rest of the walk to the Riddler's cell was silent, apart from the sound of their footsteps, the sound of her swiping her card and the swoosh of the new and improved security doors opening and closing behind them as they walked.

He punched in the code, then rattled the key in the hole for a moment before the glass door slid back. While he was fumbling with it she got the chance to admire the Riddler's artwork through the glass. She felt a vein throb in her forehead.

They stepped in together and he did his best to appear surprised. She wasn't sure whether to call his decision to pretend he had no idea what was going on stupidity or courage. Her eyes roamed the walls.

They were riddled with pencil-drawn question marks and unintelligible texts, various riddles and mazes. It was disorienting really. Most of what he wrote spiraled endlessly, making it very hard to read. As if that wasn't enough, it made no sense. Some words looked foreign, others looked like anagrams. It was almost impossible to see the white of the wall beneath it all.

She walked over to the bed. There were plenty of newspapers, every single page covered in tiny scribblings.

She turned to her companion, feeling just about ready to explode. As she yelled at him she pondered who to turn to. Warden Elsep was unlikely to do much, seeing how he had less than a month left in office. He had also completely lost all interest in his job after his fall from grace. But she had to try something. This could not continue.

* * *

He can hear Alfred's voice, but it seems to come from far away. He can faintly remember being dragged up to his room and he can feel the soft bed beneath him, drenched in his sweat. His breathing feels irregular. He passes out again.

_He stands shakily before them, smothered in darkness. They are made of stone and thrice as tall as a real person should be. Their faces and unseeing eyes display a serene sort of calm, angelic almost. They are the only thing visible. He can't even see his own hands._

_He is drenched in the shadows these monoliths cast, invisible to whoever may be watching. He is nothing next to them._

_He shivers in the cold. Their bodies offer no warmth and neither do their memories. Sorrow conquers the warmth he feels when he gazes upon their faces. The pain outweighs the love. He feels the innocence deep down inside him quiet down, conceding control to the determined part, the part that wants to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.  
_

_He is darkness. Cold, calculating fury, exacting his revenge on anyone that dares to follow in their killer's footsteps. _

_Their killer. A pathetic worm who crawled from the gutter and struck at them, the ones who wanted nothing but to help. It bought them no mercy. Bruce can hear his voice in the darkness, echoing in his mind. He hears his father's sharp intake and his mother's whimper._

_A loud grinding sound rings out and cracks form in the statues. Four shots ring out and the statues explode, chunks of stone flying everywhere. Nothing remains but dust and he bites back the tears._

_They are dead in his dreams, as in life. _

He can hear Lucius now, a worried voice speaking lowly, a murmur by his ear. There's a hand on his forehead, unbelievably cold.

_He stands up and takes hesitating steps forward. He glances back at the dust and crumbled stone before setting off down the impossibly dark alley. The sounds of the city are around him, the wail of sirens and people, screams and gunshots, squealing tires and crying children. He feels like he should do something, help them all, but something holds him back, keeps him on his path._

_He continues down the dark alley, his steps slow and heavy. He passes the body of Joe Chill, his worst nightmare lying lifeless on the ground. He stops and stares, then sets off again. He draws strength from his fear but does not dwell on it. Now is not the time to think of past pains. His city needs him._

_The alley finally comes to an end. Impossibly bright lights dance in front of him. He stares at a brightly illuminated tavern and knows this is where he needs to go. He steps inside and is met by the sound of a piano playing and people talking. It takes a while for him to grow accustomed to the bright lights and loud noises.  
_

_He walks up to the bar and sits down. The bartender comes over with a strange, smug smile on his face but doesn't say anything. Bruce opens his mouth to say something ordinary but that's not what comes out._

_"Tell me why", he says and the bartender seems pleased. The pianist starts on a slower tune._

_"Different reasons for different people. Because we can, because we need to, because we want to. Maybe we believe in something, maybe we believe in nothing, both are good reasons to do what we do. Much like your reasons. In fact, I think it's safe to say you're one of us."_

_The bartender spreads his hands in a flamboyant fashion, indicating the other people in the room. Bruce looks around with hazy eyes. _

_On one table a man covered with burn marks is having a heated argument with a blond man who radiates self-confidence. Both of them have one palm lying open on the table, coins lying in both hands._

_His gaze wanders to the next table. A woman with strange skin and even stranger clothing is watching another woman, an irritated look on her face. The other woman is dressed in red and black and stares dreamily at the pianist._

_Bruce's gaze wanders over to the pianist. It's a clown with horrible scars, dressed in a purple suit. He starts playing a wild song, his fingers slamming on the keys with animalistic ferocity. His whole body writhes and twists back and forth as he hammers the keys, sweat pouring off of him._

_He looks at the last table. A man with a delicate face sits by the table, a burlap sack with dark eyes and a grinning mouth resting on top of the table. They both watch Bruce with intense boredom in their eyes._

_"But I help people," he starts again as he turns back to the bartender, "All you do is bring suffering. I'm nothing like you. I don't even understand you."_

_"And you probably never will, at least not completely. But you don't need to. It's not like we understand you either. We know, to a certain degree, but we will never truly understand. _

_He didn't even notice it, but the bartender has given him a drink._

_"I don't drink."_

_The bartender ignores him. Bruce feels like he knows the man. He's dressed in a black shirt with a dark green colored bowler hat on his head. He's wearing black pants and a jacket in the same hue of green as the hat is slung over the bar-table a few feet away._

_"So let's just keep dancing, shall we? Round and round, until the day we die," the bartender goes on, the smile back in place. _

_"No. I will stop you. I will save the city, change it. I will break up the mob and I will put all of you away. As often as I have to. And sooner or later the city will rise again. I am an example, a beacon of hope. And I will never give up."_

_The bartender smiles again._

_"You do realize it's hopeless don't you? You can't save Gotham. You'd have to be more than human," the bartender leans across the table as he speaks, "No one is unstoppable. Not even you."  
_

_"No. Batman has no limits. Everyone knows this. And as long as the scum of the city believe it, it's true."_

_Suddenly he was no longer Bruce Wayne. He was still sitting at the bar but he was now in full armor and all doubt had left him._

_The bartender's clothes morphed into a bright orange jumpsuit and all the glamor, glitz and madness faded away. The ride was over, reality had sunk in. All the other colorful characters in the room had suffered the same fate. The criminal elite of the city were brought down, revealed as nothing but mere mortals, like everyone else. The reign of hysterical terror was over, beaten back by the unstoppable force of nature that is Batman._

He opens his eyes.

* * *

Elsewhere, in the darkest corner of the world (as far as she was concerned), Emily did not dream. She hadn't slept for days, apart from a few rare instances where exhaustion brought her down. Even then she did not sleep for more than a couple of minutes at most.

Her aimless wandering in the mansion brought nothing but new terrors, but she could not stop. Giving up and waiting for the inevitable frightened her more than anything else. Giving up meant death. She hadn't achieved anything. If she would be remembered it would simply be for being a victim of a famous madman.

And so she kept on moving, walking down the darkened corridors with a steady gait, quiet desperation flowing through her mind. She looked up and down the hallway and chose the least threatening door.

Her hand rested on the doorknob as she prayed, to any deity that would have her. She pushed the door open and her heart skipped a beat.

The Scarecrow stood inside. Its head jerked up at the sound of the door opening and turned in her direction. The light was scarce but she could still see that it did not look straight at her. And for good reason. _The thing had no eyes._

The burlap flesh at the neck was sown crudely together with countless stitches. The empty smile was likewise sown on. The Scarecrow raised its arms, stretching out towards her. The fingers were clinched and sewn fast to the palms so it could not stretch them out.

She flinched as it started humming something in a frantic tone. To her ears it sounded like a terrible song, ritualistic and cruel.

It ran in her direction, hands outstretched, and she screamed as she fell backwards. Its hands reached the wall just beside the door and stopped. Its hands traveled quickly down to the ground. Then it stretched back up and ran away from the door and repeated the bizarre motion on the opposite wall before returning to the wall by the door. The humming continued.

Its hands found the door and the Scarecrow stepped through. Emily scrambled to her feet and ran off down the corridor, glancing back at it as she ran. It was running after her, still trying to scream its song. It stayed to one side and let one hand brush against the wall as it moved. It ran slowly and its whole body trembled, almost as if it was dancing after her, in no hurry to catch her.

She ran and ran and just when it felt like her lungs were finally going to give out, there it was. An open door, showing the heavenly night sky outside. She scrambled out and fell as she crossed the doorstep. She tumbled down a few stone steps and fell flat on the wet ground. Ignoring the pain she rose again, running frantically on, falling repeatedly and getting caked with mud. Behind her she could hear the door slamming shut. She ran faster and faster, through bushes that scratched at her, away from the house of horror and back to Gotham. Normally she hated the grimy city, but right now it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

The Scarecrow uncovered his window and watched her run away. He would collect her again in a few days. The experiment was far from over. But right now it was time-out. His lab rat would get time to recover.

It would be intriguing to see how she had processed after she had regained her strength.

* * *

Marie Donovan sat at the reception of the police station, keeping a watchful eye on nothing. It was a quiet neighborhood compared to most other parts of the city, so there was little to do.

She wasn't even supposed to be here. She worked in archives usually, and she was good at it. Working too much with people just wasn't her thing. But the utter lack of manpower required her to do it. Very few people wanted to be policemen these days.

But her dull night was interrupted by the appearance of a woman, covered from head to toe in mud. She stood in the light of the lamp outside for a moment before coming in. Marie called for the officers present and dialed for medical assistance. The woman came up to her, wild-eyed and shaking.

"Help me."

* * *

AN: Warden Elsep is from the last story, he'll be sacked soon because he was responsible for allowing Harley to treat Joker in the prequel.

There was a mistake in my oh so brilliant plan for this story, so Scarecrow's sudden release of his captive may feel a bit off. The next chapter will take place a few days after this one, so as to make it possible for Ivy's actions in the last chapter to take effect. I really should have planned this better, but such is laziness.

The fake Scarecrow is another test subject. The costume has no eyes, so he can't see, his mouth is gagged, so he can't speak, and his fingers are sown to the palms so he can't release himself. His "dance" as he tries to follow her is just him shaking from fear, because having a burlap sack on your head and being unable to see while under the effects of the fear toxin is no picnic. The whole thing is a reference to a horror story called Oh, Whistle and I'll Come to You My Lad. It's a delightfully creepy story, for reasons I can't quite understand. And it mentions scarecrows, so I think this was meant to be.

I had a hard time making up my mind about whether to end on the "help me" or the "he opens his eyes". They're both very dramatic.


	7. Summer Wind

AN: Here it finally is. Hopefully I can get the ball rolling now, at a faster pace than an update every 6 weeks or so. And to make sure you remember at least some of what's going one, here's a dramatic recap. With lots and lots of exclamation marks.

Previously on _The Natural Balance_: Gotham under attack! Viruses all over the place! Mad Hatter hats two cops! Scarecrow releases his prisoner! Diabolical plans galore! Joan Leland annoyed at corruption within Arkham! Riddler bored! Batman poisoned! What are the odds of him actually dying?! None at all!

Summer Wind is a song with Frank Sinatra, originally a Danish song, no idea what it was called.

* * *

The Commissioner sat in his office with a pained air, hands in his hair. _Only in this city._ The room was hot and stuffy and he was perspiring slightly. Great stacks of paper cluttered his desk and the trash can was overstuffed. A half-empty cup filled with cold coffee sat on the edge of the desk.

_Only in this city would something like this happen._

Dozens of people had died earlier that day. The hospitals were filled with people infected with anthrax, salmonella and even the bubonic plague.

_Only in this city would this all happen at once._

They had traced the anthrax outbreak to a number of subway stations and the salmonella to a GothamGoods factory, but they had yet to discover how the bubonic plague had been spread. And they had no clue who was behind this.

_Only in this city would the goddamn Black Death be unleashed. _

At least this wasn't the middle ages. There was a cure, even if it didn't always work.

The first few deaths had been reported and everyone had gone mad. Anyone who felt even slightly under the weather rushed to the hospital, creating absolute chaos. The city was nearly paralyzed.

_And all I can do is tell people that we're looking into it, that the perpetrators will be caught and we mustn't panic._

People were dying and all he could do was sit at his desk and command the investigation, assure people they were safe, utter empty words that no one listened to. He was powerless.

He took his coffee mug and threw it at the wall with all the force he could muster. It shattered with a satisfying sound and the stale coffee spilled all over the wall. He swept the stacks of paper onto the floor.

Was it the Scarecrow? He didn't know. It wasn't too far-fetched, but it still seemed like an impossible feat. Where would Crane get his hands on the viruses, especially with his reputation? It just didn't make sense.

Gordon lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. To hell with regulation, he was close to a nervous breakdown. Barbara was scared stiff. So was he, but he needed to be the rock. The one who knew what to do, the one who didn't falter. He needed to be the rock. For everyone.

The door to his office opened and the ugly mug of Harvey Bullock appeared.

"Uh, Commish? She's ready to talk. You want it?"

* * *

Gordon rubbed his tired eyes as he entered the room, his gaze settling on the woman huddled at the table with a blanket on her shoulders.

"Good afternoon Ms. James and thank you for seeing me. I can only imagine what you've been through. My officers tell me you've been very helpful."

"Not really. All I can give you is completely useless. "There are lots of trees there, it's a big place, no one around". God, I'm so stupid. All those poor people are going through hell and I can't think of anything."

"Please, calm down, it's not your fault. Just getting out of there is good enough."

Her eyes raised to meet his. She looked like she was incapable of crying, no matter how much she wanted to.

"But I said I'd help them."

"And you still can. Any information, no matter how vague, can help. Your descriptions match a tip we received. We believe he's in an amusement park. My people are searching them again as we speak."

A look of confusion crossed her face and she blinked rapidly.

"A tip? From who?"

He coughed into his hand and mustered a tone filled with authority. Telling her the truth would only agitate her. Knowing someone had been able to help her but refused to do so only for his own amusement would hardly help.

"It was an anonymous tip. But I want you to try to remember what happened. Did he say anything? Anything that could shed a light on what he wants?"

She moved a hand through her hair, eyes focusing on empty air.

"I don't know. It's all so blurry. It doesn't even feel real anymore. It was…He was always talking, but I couldn't focus. His voice was cold, sharp. It felt like a knife cutting through the haze. I think he said he didn't know who I was. He said I didn't matter. Said I might die."

She choked slightly on the last word and he put a hand on her shoulder. She went on.

"I don't think he wants anything. He just wants us to suffer. He's experimenting on people, tearing them apart just for knowledge, or, or fun. He wants to know, but there's no reason for it. He's a monster!"

He watched her with pity. It looked like Jonathan Crane had just ended her short career as a therapist. There was no way she'd return to Arkham now.

"But did he mention anything about the attacks earlier today? Anything you can think of would be helpful. So far we see no reason behind it. No ransom demands, no threats. Just suffering."

"What attacks?"

He kept in a sigh of disappointment. He hadn't really expected much, but the hope had been there.

"Earlier today a number of biological attacks were discovered. Countless people have died already. Crane is our top suspect."

"He probably did it just for the satisfaction. Just to feel the boiling fear of the people, to document it. He doesn't want anything else. Oh, just listen to me! I'm just helping him now, spreading the fear. I'm supposed to know better, damn it!"

He muttered something friendly and helpful. She didn't seem to listen.

"I want to put you in the witness protection program. We don't know why he let you go, if he actually did let you go on purpose. He might come back for you. You're our only lead, maybe you can remember something once you've had rest."

"I don't know if I'll remember anything," she said in a hopeless tone.

"Please, just try."

She gave in and they started planning where she should stay. No matter how little she might remember, it was something.

* * *

"The first blow has been struck. Hospitals overflow with the dead and dying, the police are swamped and ineffectual. The city is reeling, defenseless against us. All roads are now open and our foes are vulnerable. But they are not helpless. We have won the first battle, but it did not come without a cost. The enemy has eliminated all of our first wave of crusaders," Ivy let her words linger in the air to allow them to sink in. Some people sobbed but most looked resolute. "But we mustn't strike carelessly. Now we only need information. So go out into the streets, learn what you can but keep a low profile. We must find out how much the mafia knows. But you must all have reached a safe haven by tomorrow morning, for then I will unleash a second attack and it will spare nothing it comes across."

Her spies set off. She did not truly expect them to achieve much, apart from learning the location of some outfits. She just needed the mob to see they were under surveillance. Then she could attempt to pit the mob against other criminal organizations. Or if that didn't work she could try a gambit. Let the mob know what where their enemy was but not what exactly they were up against. Lure them to the garden and enthrall the leader. Gain valuable information or even infiltrate the syndicate.

Shortly after her little army had dispersed she left. Clad in baggy pants and a hoodie she traversed the streets. Hopefully no-one would give her too much attention if she kept her head down. The make-up hid the green tint of her face admirably but she would still stick out if she didn't hide. The downside of becoming more than human was that you couldn't pass among them without being noticed.

There were less people on the streets than usual and everyone seemed on edge. Only natural, she supposed, given the circumstances. All the more reason to avoid attention. On account of her alien looks someone might just single her out.

She stopped by a diner where a television set had been put up by the entrance. A small group of people was huddled around it, watching the coverage of the crisis. Authorities had apparently diagnosed all her attacks and people were warned of the symptoms. GothamGoods had recalled all their products, but their reputation would never recover. The news station then showed footage of overcrowded hospitals and police stations. Commissioner Gordon had made an announcement earlier in the day, a feeble attempt at calming people down. People waving flags, people encouraging each other to stay strong. Truly heartbreaking footage. Some of the people watching with her wept.

"It's this goddamn city! There's something wrong with it!" sobbed one woman.

Poison Ivy felt no pity. The people had brought this on themselves. If they showed nature no respect, of course they would be given none in return. She walked on.

The sun was shining, birds sang in the trees and there was nary a cloud in the sky. She raised her head to let the sunlight caress what little of her skin that was bare. Spring was passing into summer and the world was at its happiest. She breathed in deeply.

An annoyed look crossed her face. The unavoidable smell of car exhaust had spoiled the moment. As long as her work remained unfinished, this land would never breathe freely. She tried again to ignore the people and the filth that followed them.

In a few minutes she was at the current police headquarters. It wasn't quite as glamorous as the old one, she reflected as she waited just outside the entrance, but it served its purpose. The move had hopefully brought the police down a peg, made them realize they weren't immune to the horrors of the city. Any clown could reach them.

After only fifteen minutes of waiting, a suitable target emerged. Two male officers in their thirties stepped out of the station. She made her way up to them.

"Excuse me, officers?"

"Yes?", the one in front answered.

"I was wondering if you could help me," she started in a sultry tone as a strange scent filled the air.

"Sorry, lady, ain't got time. Ask inside. Let's go, Murphy"

Her jaw dropped slightly as they walked away. Maybe they were both homosexual? Yes, that could possibly explain it. She walked dejectedly back to her waiting spot. Ten minutes and another potential target emerged, this time just one man.

"Excuse me, officer?"

"Yes?" he replied in a softer tone than the one before.

A few sentences were exchanged and she knew she had him.

"Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he replied in a dreamy voice.

"I need to meet someone higher up. Someone who can get me copies of all your files on the mafia. Could you arrange for him to come to a specific bar tonight?"

"Sure," he answered slowly with a broad smile on his face.

She told him the name of the bar and he wandered off with an absent air. She hurried back to the park. Hopefully she would soon have all the information she needed. And two spies to know if they ever got wind of her.

* * *

Joan sat in a soft chair in front of Elsep's desk, trying not to stare at the man. He looked like he had aged a few years since he started little over a year ago. His face was chalk white and pallid, his eyes looked lifeless and his whole demeanor exuded an air of surrender.

"What can I help you with, Dr. Leland?"

Even his voice sounded hollow.

"It's concerning my patient."

He rarely blinked, making him seem even more unnatural. His eyes just stared straight at her. But it did not feel like she was under scrutiny. There didn't seem to be anything behind his eyes.

"Ah," he started, in a deadpan voice, "Mr. Nigma? Or whatever his name really is. It must be nice. To be able to completely erase all traces of yourself."

She tried her best to keep the awkward silence as short as possible.

"Yes, sir. Nigma. I believe he's been bribing the staff. He had newspapers and notebooks in his cell and he has shown knowledge of recent events, Emily's disappearance for example."

There was a short silence as he leaned back in his chair, eyes fixing on the ceiling. The meager light offered by the lamp on the desk hardly reached his face. He had always had a fondness for the dark, but since the fiasco with Harleen and the rumors of his involvement, it had become much more evident. His appearance coupled with the atmosphere of the room made him look like a vampire.

"Bribery? Yes, that doesn't sound unlikely. Not surprising at all, no."

There was another short silence as she waited for him to spring into action, or do whatever he did when he needed to exercise his authority. After a few moments it became apparent he had finished speaking.

"Something must obviously be done, sir. This can't continue. This is supposed to be a place of healing, not a base of operations for criminals."

He stroked his balding head and leaned forward again.

"I will speak to the chief of security, then. Rest assured, I will do everything in my power to fix this problem."

He looked exhausted after having finished his sentence. She felt sorry for him, she really did, but this was too much. She would have to speak to the board of directors. An institution housing some of the most dangerous individuals in Gotham could not be in the hands of someone so completely uninterested in doing his job.

"I don't think that will be enough. A slap on the wrist isn't going to stop this. We need to fire these individuals. Arkham Asylum can't afford to keep such corrupt employees."

He let out a deep breath and his eyes rested on her again.

"You could just put him on strong sedatives. Then he'd stop bothering you. With a pinch of optimism it could even be seen as an improvement in his condition."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"You can't be serious, sir."

"Why not?"

This was unbelievable.

"I'm not going to put someone on drugs without a diagnosis. I don't even think he's mentally ill in any way!"

"Then what is he?"

"I don't know. But he's not insane. I believe he belongs in Blackgate Penitentiary, not here."

He regarded her with a bored expression.

"Alright, Leland. I'll see what I can do about your complaint. Have a nice day."

She left the office in a foul mood. It was hopeless.

* * *

Harleen woke up with a happy yawn, removing the little home-made Joker doll from her lap. She looked at her destroyed alarm clock. Apparently it was seven in the evening, if the broken little thing could be trusted. Her happiness was replaced with surprise, however, as she took in the miniature jungle that had appeared on her bedroom floor.

There were dozens upon dozens of potted plants spread around the room, none of which she remembered having seen before.

"How the…?"

She noticed an open window and trotted over to it. Sure enough, there was one of Ivy's creepy vines reaching from the ground to her window. She fetched a switch blade and hacked at it. On the third cut it slithered down her wall and coiled itself together in the flowerbed below.

Harley slammed the window with a shudder. She'd go out and burn it later.

Her eyes fixed upon a rose beside the window. There was a note attached to it.

_Sorry for the intrusion, I didn't want to wake you. I need to warn you however. Close all your windows tonight and don't open them, no matter what. I won't be able to guarantee your safety otherwise. Do not leave your house until the afternoon tomorrow. Tell your little gang as well._

_Ivy_

There was a red mark of lips on the bottom of the letter. Harley sighed.

"Sweet kid, but crazier than hell. What the hell ya doin' now, Red?"

* * *

Jonathan entered the Hatter's lodgings within the amusement park for lack of anything better to do. It could also be wise to make sure his mad new friend wasn't making any trouble.

The Mad Hatter sat at a small table, an empty tea cup in front of him. The man's obsession with tea bordered on the ridiculous. But then again, so did everything about him.

"What are you doing?", Jonathan asked.

The Hatter's face seemed to light up as he noticed the casually clad (this being the Scarecrow, casually clad meant suit and tie) Dr. Crane.

"What bandersnatchery is this?!" he exclaimed happily. "The good doctor out of his house with a jovial look on his face? I can scarce believe it! But where's your young lady friend?"

Jonathan smiled slightly. The man's mad rambling was faintly amusing once you stopped trying to correct him.

"She's left for her own home for the time being. But I expect to see her again soon," he answered with a casual and friendly voice.

"Oh, my friend, I worry, I worry. One should never let a love interest out of one's sight. They have a tendency to disappear quite completely."

"But tell me of your fortunes, Jervis. What have you been doing?"

He let out a sad little sigh.

"I am listening to the incessant knocking of boredom upon my door, as every man must every now and then."

Jonathan took a seat at the table and watched the other man with interest.

"And what do you do when bored?"

"Oh, I suppose I could grow or shrink, but only if Alice gave me the pills. I never seem to find them by myself. But maybe I could throw a tea party. Yes! That might even lure Alice back and we could all have the best of times!"

It was hard to discern just what he meant. The man didn't seem to have much more than one foot in reality. Jervis spoke again.

"I might even invite my friends from the police force. Charming fellows, those two. And useful to boot."

"I see," Jonathan answered dryly. Did the man have imaginary friends or could he actually have sources in the GCPD? He'd talked about this before after all. Curiouser and curiouser. Interesting, he corrected himself.

* * *

Officer Randall stared at the phone on his desk. He honestly didn't want to use it. His hand reached out and picked it up anyway.

Murphy stood by his side, staring indifferently at the phone. Randall wasn't sure if he was in the same sorry state as he was, but it was likely.

"Hello?", came the voice from the other end.

"This is the cop. There'll be another visit and this time it won't be only us."

He hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop.

"Thank you kindly. I'll make ready for guests. Won't you come as well? It will be a party most splendiforous."

"Alright. We'll try that."

"I'll wait with baited breath, my dear. Farewell for now!"

He put down the phone and looked up at Murphy.

"We're going back."

Murphy looked at him.

"Okay."

He didn't know what was wrong but it sure as hell was something. Everything was perfectly ordinary apart from one thing: He couldn't tell anyone about what had happened. That and he never took off his freaking police cap, no matter how much he wanted to. Not even when he took a bath did he take it off. When his girlfriend had reached out to take it off he had forcefully grabbed her arm and told her to leave it. Now she was sure to leave him. Not that he could blame her.

He could blame that fucking freak though. He didn't know how but that crazy asshole was behind it all. Somehow.

He made one final attempt to rebel against himself and put pen to paper. He started to write "Help me" but of course it didn't work. "Hello there" came on the paper.

They both stood up and walked up to the team who had been assigned the Hatter's amusement park.

"We'll go along, guys. That place is a nightmare", he said.

"To find", added Murphy.

Randall nodded his head.

"Yeah, to find, I mean."

And off they went, straight for the trap.

Thirty minutes later they were driving up the dry mud road.

"This is it," Randall murmured, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

They stopped and left the car at the entrance before walking further into the dilapidated amusement park.

"This is Gotham in a nutshell. Run down and creepy. No wonder there's so many crooks, there ain't any jobs!", Jacobs exclaimed.

"Let's just get this over with," Randall replied. Not quite the "It's a trap" he'd been going for but he hadn't been too hopeful anyway.

Birds chirped in the trees, hidden by the newly appeared leaves. Spring was close to passing into summer but the mood among the four men didn't feel the least bit upbeat. Two of them knew what was coming but couldn't speak while the other two were simply affected by the park's atmosphere.

"You feeling alright, Rand?", Jacobs asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Just fine."

They walked on in silence, their steps kicking up little dust clouds from the road.

Within five minutes, something unusual came into sight. About two dozen men sat at a long table with a cheerily colored tablecloth. All of them wore hats of various sizes and shapes and at the end of the table sat a short man in outlandish clothing. He seemed to be the only one who actually moved or talked, waving his arms as he spoke to his companions. The officers walked closer.

"Uh, excuse me? GCPD. Could we have a word with you?", Jacobs started.

The short man turned his head to look at them, a wide smile on his face.

"Yes, haha! Yes! Welcome! Join our merry little band in titter-tattering away our worries and woes! Sit! Smile! Sit!"

The officers exchanged confused glances.

"I have some questions I need to ask you. Can I see some.."

"Don't we all, dear, don't we all! If there were no questions there would be no answers and vice versa! Eating everything you see isn't quite the same as seeing everything you eat."

A worried look crossed Jacobs' face. There was something wrong with that man.

"Calm down, sir. I need to see some I.D."

"Ah, the old dilly-dallying dance again. But I think Ids are more up Jonathan's alley."

Jacobs signaled for Randall to call this in. Randall turned away and pretended to use the radio.

"Who's Jonathan?"

"Oh, a friend. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing more."

"We're looking for Jonathan Crane. We have reason to believe he may be responsible for a slate of kidnappings. Have you seen anything suspicious?" Other than yourself, he refrained from adding. And again, sir, I'll need to see some I.D."

The man started rummaging through his pockets.

"Hmmm."

All the men at the table raised their tea cups to their lips simultaneously and then brought them down with a clank. Jacobs couldn't help but flinch.

"Who's missing? Myself I know of plenty of missing characters. Where's the dormouse for instance? Where's the carpenter? And what have they done with Alice? I keep finding her but I lose her again every single time."

Something about the way he talked sent shivers up his spine. And that last sentence just pushed it too far.

"Okay you little creep, I've had enough!"

He was immediately kicked in the back of the knee and brought to the ground, a pistol put against the back of his head. His partner suffered a similar fate beside him.

"Randall? Murphy?! What the fuck?!"

The little creep seemed annoyed now.

"I don't think I want you as a friend. No, no, no, no, not at all. You're awfully mean."

He raised his head back and stared at the two cops with a livid expression on his face.

"It was you who stole Alice away, wasn't it? Yes, if I know you right you horrible little rascal, that's exactly what you did! Always ruining people's dreams!", the man screamed in Jacobs' face. Then his voice went back to tranquil tones.

"You're ferociously lucky you ran into me and not the queen. I've never fancied the removal of heads myself. So barbariously barbaric."

He looked at his unwilling accomplices and Randall felt himself involuntarily putting a finger on the trigger.

_No, no, please no._ He couldn't live with himself if he did this. _Snap out of it man! Stop it!_

"Randall! You slimy piece of fucking shit! Don't..", Jacobs screamed.

BLAM!BLAM!

Two dull thuds sounded out and silence reigned once more. A moment passed.

"Well! Sit and smile, my jolly friends. There's plenty for all!"

And so Randall and Murphy sat down at the table and had a cup of tea while their minds screamed and raged ineffectually within their confines.

* * *

Bruce woke up for the fifth time that day, tried to stand up for the fifth time that day, and got pushed down by Alfred for the fourth time that day. The first time he'd stood up he'd fallen down from exhaustion all on his own accord. But he was sure his strength was returning to him.

"The city needs me, Alfred."

Lying helplessly in bed as he heard accounts of the biological attacks carried out earlier that day didn't do much to calm him.

"And your body needs rest, Master Wayne. You'll be no good to the city dead."

He barely managed to hold in a petulant pout or something equally childish. He tried to think of something to change Alfred's mind but he knew it was for naught. The butler was right.

Lucius Fox stepped into the room and smiled at him.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Mister Wayne."

Bruce smiled back.

"Thanks. I assume I owe you my life again?"

Lucius' expression turned serious.

"Yes, I suppose you can. But in all honesty it was pure luck and nothing else. The poison was extraordinary. If it wasn't for the fact that a Wayne Enterprises employee was the first to find it some years ago, you'd be dead. Just how did it enter your system?"

Bruce crunched his eyebrows in thought, the light from the window feeling like an interrogation light upon his face.

"It's all pretty vague, but…I remember a woman. There was something very strange about her. There was this weird smell, sweeter than anything, and I felt like I was going into some sort of trance. Then she used her fingernails on me. And I escaped by the skin of my teeth."

Lucius looked worried now, more so than before.

"I might know who that was. A couple of years before your return, we had a promising botanist in our employ. Her name was Pamela Lillian Isley. Her ideas were revolutionary. The company funded her research, which she conducted South-America. She made frequent excursions into the Amazon and her findings were many. Dozens upon dozens of new species of plants and animals were discovered thanks to her. And then…"

His voice took on a sad tone.

"And then something happened. A traveling salesman contacted the local police and they found the village, or what was left of it. It had been nearly eradicated. Only two of Isley's lab assistants were still alive and they too died a few days later. The jungle had taken over most if not all of the village, even though not more than two days were thought to have passed since whatever horror happened. And Isley was gone without a trace. The assistants rambled about her returning to the jungle, taking her rightful place and other mad things before they died. The last sample Isley sent to us was a new poison. The very poison that ran through your blood almost two days ago."

"What do you think happened?" Bruce asked.

"I honestly don't know. It's one of those mysteries that will likely never be explained. The villagers all died of poisoning, but not all by the same type. The lab assistants mentioned an experiment, but nothing they said made sense. Maybe you met Isley and maybe it was someone who found her research. But one thing's for sure, you need to be careful. You won't fully recover for at least two days."

Bruce looked into the older man's eyes as his mind raced. Who knew what could happen in two days? He had to contact Gordon, let him know what little he'd found out so far.

* * *

Her police officer had done as asked. She met the two of them, both slightly inebriated, and didn't even need her special charms to separate them from their group. She lured them to the first officer's apartment where she had the privacy to properly enthrall them.

The higher-up officer of the law turned out to be more than qualified to steal the information she needed. He was in charge of the newly-formed squad whose sole purpose was the investigation of the Maroni mob.

"And one more thing," she said as she left. Her audience looked up at her with mindless expressions of admiration.

"Close all your windows tonight and whatever you do, don't leave the safety of your houses until after twelve o'clock tomorrow."

"All clear?" she added in the sweetest tones she could muster.

"Yeah," came the chorus.

Later that night she was back in the park. Dozens upon dozens of closed flowers stuck up from the treetops, lined up among the highest branches. She smiled affectionately up at them.

The wind was steady and cooling, making the air a comfortable temperature. Little sound reached the park from the city, except for the occasional loud car-horn or gunshot. The smog had cleared somewhat and the moon shone brightly. Almost a romantic atmosphere.

"Even the winds smile upon us. Now, my children, a better chance will not present itself."

The flowers opened one after the other and the wind carried millions of spores on its wings, onto the city. The light of the moon shone upon the throngs of avengers slowly wafting towards their target.

She sat smiling there in the grass, until they were all out of view.

* * *

AN: Gasp! What is this diabolical plan?! Tune in next time, same Bat-time...yeah, alright, I'll stop now.

I had some difficulty finding a suitable voice for Jervis. Speaking only in Alice is impossible so I decided to go with plain weird. To understand the creepiness of his smile you need to have seen him in BTAS. Joker's smile looks perfectly normal compared to that.

Tell me what you think, it might just speed up the process.


	8. It Serves Me Right to Suffer

Serves me right to suffer is a song by John Lee Hooker. I was tempted to write this in Frank Miller style, but it would have been too much of a hassle. If the artist's name had been John-Kee Hore I would definitely have given in.

Arkham's head of security was not in a good mood. Dr. Elsep had called him late last evening and said he wanted a word with him the next morning. So here he was, trudging through the dreary corridors of the asylum, headed for the warden's office to be torn a new a-hole for the Riddler fiasco. He fumed as he thought about it. He didn't care about the occasional dubious deal, he was no saint himself when his wallet was starving. But those idiots had let the little nut practically advertise what was happening. He'd painted his whole goddamn cell and they hadn't done anything.

And here he was, standing in front of the heavy oak door to the warden's office, about to get demoted or fired for the stupidity of others. Of course he should have checked on things personally, rather than trust those idiots. He liked most of his co-workers, but at the moment he wanted nothing more than to kill them with his bare hands. He knocked hard on the door and steeled himself. Okay, he was going to lose the best job he'd ever had. Nothing to do but accept that. And maybe have the morons he suspected were responsible fired alongside him.

Still no answer from inside the office.

He waited for a few moments, visualizing possible scenarios of him taking his revenge. He knocked again, harder this time. There was no answer.

Maybe the old man had forgotten? Nah, the dude practically lived in there. He'd probably just fallen asleep.

"Doc? It's me, Seth," he shouted at the door.

Leaving wouldn't really fix the problem. What would he do anyway? Hang around and wait for Elsep to find and fire him? Screw that.

He opened the door and peered in. The blinds were down and the only light came from a open window and the newly opened door. The old creep was sitting in his chair, strangely motionless.

"Uh, doctor Elsep?"

He took a few tentative steps forward. Jeez, the old geezer looked dead. Seth walked up to him for a closer look.

"Doc?"

The guy was incredibly pale, but that was nothing new. His hands were down at his sides. Seth reached for his neck to check for a pulse. As his hand hovered only inches from the doctor's neck, his eyes slowly opened. Seth jumped back in fright.

"Jesus! Wow!" he said as he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh. "You scared the crap outta me doc." He looked back up.

"Doc?"

The doctor's hands slowly came up from his sides and then reached out towards Seth with fingers spread, as if he was trying to grab him from where he sat.

"You, uh, you okay, doc?"

The door slammed behind him and Seth spun around. No one was there.

Then he looked at the floor. There was something on the floor. Thick and green. It seemed to be moving ever so slowly, slithering away from the door.

"Shit! Do you see that?! What the hell is it?!"

He spun around to look at the doctor.

But there was no doctor. Instead there was something else. The doctor's hands were clutching frantically at the air as if still trying to reach the terrified man just a few steps away. But disturbing as the alien motions were, they paled in comparison to what was behind him. The doctor's body wasn't directly connected to the floor. Where his legs should have appeared, there was a huge stem of a plant. And above where the doctor's body stuck out from the plant, the gigantic gaping maw of an overgrown flytrap stared at him.

Seth's jaw went slack and he let out a tiny squeak, incapable of screaming. Something moving at the periphery of his vision caught his attention. He tore his eyes from the monster in front of him to look down. Dozens of thick green cords were slithering along the floor towards him.

He reacted after just a few seconds of paralyzing shock. He reached for his gun. He cursed inwardly as he remembered he hadn't brought it. He spun around and darted for the door, but didn't manage to move an inch before a vine trapped his ankle. Another followed, encircling his neck, then another and another and he was soon being dragged kicking and screaming towards the abomination behind him.

He clawed frantically at the floor and then the desk as he was slowly drawn closer to his aggressor. The doctor's hands were pulling at his head, bringing him closer to the gaping maw of the plant. He was pulled into the warm and fleshy mouth of the plant.

The vines slowly retracted and he tried to scramble out, but it was too late. There were thorns in the bottom of the mouth, sticking into his skin and he could feel his strength leaving him. He soon faded into drugged unconsciousness and the maw closed. The room went silent.

Soon the monstrosity had started digesting its victim.

Giovanni took a last drag of his cigarette before throwing it onto the gravel and stepping on it, rubbing out the light. He cast a glance at his watch before walking back to the heavy iron door of the shed. From behind the trees that surrounded the little building the dulled sound of the river could be heard.

He knocked hard on the door and waited.

Their informant had been hanging around outside the club when they decided to give him a hand. He had rejected their hospitality at first, but eventually gave in and came along with them.

He knocked again, harder this time.

The door swung open and a man stepped out. Giovanni could hear their guest's labored breathing as the door slowly swung back. Just before the door slammed, a piercing scream rang out. The man who had stepped out leaned against the closed door with a grin on his face as silence settled again.

He glared at the man, curling his lip slightly in disgust. Floyd was his name. Giovanni had never liked him. A good worker, smart guy with a vicious streak and a love for the job. A sociopath, really, but as long as he was on their side he was useful.

"Well?", Giovanni started with a bored tone.

"Information flows, sir. Our friend says he's given us everything, but I think we can get some more if we keep going." He smiled. "With your permission, of course."

Floyd's face had gone back to a neutral expression, hiding his cruelty. He looked as innocent as a puppy.

"What do we know?"

"He speaks of the park, sir. The park and an apartment right by. An army, he says. An army of dregs like him, if I understand him right. Enough to make one shiver, it is."

He stared straight into the young man's eyes, refusing to be put off balance by his underling's unfaltering stare.

"Park?"

"Robinson, sir. He says they stay there. One question, sir, if I may?"

"What?", he replied in an annoyed tone.

"We really getting all that money to wipe out some hobos? Not that I'm complaining. Been a long time since I went bum hunting."

"Bum hunting?" Giovanni said, not trying to hide the disdain in his voice.

"Oh, you know, sir. Like, the follies of youth and all that."

This was his true face, the one he didn't try to hide around his colleagues. He was respected by the other enforcers for it, so he reveled in being himself. His violent, unapologetic self.

"Go check the place out. Our guest is not to be touched in the meantime."

Floyd nodded his head and pulled out his phone as he slowly walked to his car. His face was expressionless as Giovanni watched him through the glass of the front window of the car. When you didn't know him and couldn't hear him talking, his features were stunning. Angelic almost.

Giovanni huffed as he watched the car back away. This man was as far from angels as possible. But his nickname wasn't undeserved. Pretty boy Floyd indeed.

Gordon stood in the street alongside Detectives Bullock and Montoya. The former two were smoking while the latter stood alongside with a cup of coffee as they watched the Hazmat team in their protective suits enter the motel.

"Think this is our guy?" Bullock asked, the smoke from his cigarette spiraling slowly in the absolute calm of the air.

"Witnesses all said they'd seen a homeless man smoking in the subway station they were in. Our dead man in there seems like a safe bet as one of the perpetrators," Montoya answered.

"Think they spread it wit' the cigar smoke? Is that even possible?"

Neither Gordon nor Montoya replied. A few moments passed in silence.

"More of them are bound to pop up. Then we've just got to hope someone can identify them. Whoever orchestrated this doesn't take any chances of their operatives snitching," Gordon started the conversation again.

"Think it's a bum rebellion? There's almost none of 'em hanging out in my neighborhood any more," Bullock replied. "Creepy, really. Half a' 'em just up and disappeared."

"I doubt it. They probably had no clue what they were being made to do. Someone must have paid them to do this seemingly harmless task. Take our friend in there for example. He was probably enjoying the luxuries at that motel with the money he was given for doing it. How could they have known they were being made to kill people, were being sent out to die?"

Montoya turned to look at Gordon with a worried look on her face.

"But where did the virus come from? They're terrorists, that's obvious, but just how powerful are they? The black death and anthrax, both at the same time? It's unbelievable. Where do they get their hands on this stuff?"

Gordon ran a hand through his graying hair.

"The military is examining it now to see whether the anthrax comes from them. Until then, we know nothing."

They stood in silence as the commissioner lit another cigarette. Bullock followed his example and Montoya sipped her coffee. Gordon watched the smoke as it lazily rose up into the sky. There was absolutely no wind and the sun beat mercilessly down on them. The summer heat was stifling.

A few minutes later the radio in Bullock and Montoya's car could be heard through the open windows of the vehicle. A strained voice was shouting for backup. The two detectives rushed for their car.

"I'm going with you," Gordon called after them and ran for his own car. He couldn't take another minute of idly twiddling his thumbs.

The floorboards groaned as he approached the table. The other man didn't look up.

The Scarecrow settled in the chair opposite his tenant. The short man was playing chess with himself, but by no apparent rules. The queens danced round the board with no obvious purpose and the kings were situated in the wrong camp. The Hatter seemed oblivious to his presence.

"Good afternoon," the Scarecrow offered in greeting. The man kept his concentration on the board.

"Salutations and good greetings, my friendly friend. How goes the good and ghastly work?"

He could never be sure how much the Hatter knew. There was no way of telling if he knew what the Scarecrow did or not.

"Fine, thank you," he answered.

"Wonderful and magical. But where is the blushing bride-to-be?"

"What?"

They were quiet for a while, the Hatter moving the chess pieces at random and the Scarecrow staring at him.

"Oh, her. She's away for now. I intend to visit soon enough."

The Hatter finally raised his gaze from the board to stare into the Scarecrow's eyes without blinking.

"Away, you say? Best be careful. Women are fickle creatures. Easy to look at, hard to understand. Leave her alone for just a second and she may just fall in fancy of a boorish buffoon. But never worry, I'm sure nothing can come between the two of you."

The Scarecrow smiled.

"Yes, I have a feeling you're right. I'm sure nothing will stand between us now."

They pulled up outside a dilapidated apartment block on the outskirts of the Narrows. There was already a police car parked outside, but it was empty.

The door to the building was hanging wide open. A throng of people stood outside, staring at the building with wide eyes. The constant murmuring of the group grew louder as Gordon walked up to the open door alongside the two detectives.

"Don't go in there! There's somethin' unholy goin' on!" someone in the crowd shouted.

The inhabitants of the Narrows were still distrustful of the police. The people warning you of danger was unusual. He stopped for a moment to look at the group of people. There were no further comments, but the people looked scared.

This did not bode well. Murder was an every day occurrence in the Narrows, the sound of gunfire routine, tragedy as much a part of life as breakfast. For these people to be visibly frightened something terrible had to have happened. The commissioner steeled himself and looked at his partners. The looks on their faces told him they were thinking along the same lines.

They entered. Nothing seemed wrong, no horror jumped out at them. Everything was deathly silent. But there was still a feeling of unease. Not even the light of the sun coming from the open doorway could dispel it.

The trio slowly made their way up the stairs, guns in their hands. Floor after floor, there was no sound, no hint of life. No sign of the officers who had called for backup and no hint of the bustle of everyday life. The only thing that registered in his mind was the sound of their footsteps and his breathing growing heavier as they climbed higher. At one point he thought he saw a quick movement along one of the stairs above him but he dismissed it.

At last they came to a door that had been kicked down. They exchanged glances and stepped inside.

The first room showed nothing unusual. No sign of struggle, just coats hanging on a rack, shoes lying around the floor and an open door leading to a messy bathroom and another door leading to a storage room. They moved further into the apartment. The faint smell of gunpowder was in the air. He didn't know why, exactly, but goosebumps were rising up and down his skin. Occasionally there was a strange rustling sound, as if something was sliding along the floor or walls. But he saw nothing that justified his paranoia.

They entered the kitchen and slowly inched their way forward. A cabinet door slowly swung open.

He looked down and saw an officer huddled into the cabinet under the stove. The sight of the man cramped into the cabinet might have been comical had it not been for his terrified expression. He held a finger to his lips, indicating silence. Gordon stopped, Bullock and Montoya stopping right behind him.

They all watched as the man climbed out of the cabinet. Once he had gotten out he pointed behind the corner he was pressed up against. Gordon followed his instructions and stared into the living room.

There were a few strange, greenish splatters on the floor. He looked back at the officer with a quizzical look on his face. The officer peered round the corner, then pointed to the side, somewhere Gordon couldn't see. He slowly walked closer to the living room, trying to keep his footsteps as silent as possible.

"_What_…" he started whispering but was shushed by the officer. He could now see the officer had been pointing at some other room. Again he felt like he saw something slithering along the floor, this time retreating into the room, but he couldn't be sure.

The trio advanced on the room despite the officer's despairing look. James Gordon would not buckle under fear, would not give up. This was probably nothing but a trick of the Scarecrow. It really had been that bastard after all, trying to tear the city apart. The officer gave up on trying to convince them to get out and left. Bullock looked at him with disgust in his eyes.

He stepped through the door. A black woman lay on the bed, the covers reaching her chin. She was incredibly obese, if the bulge under the covers was any indication. She looked a bit strange, unusually pale.

But this didn't hold the commissioner's attention for long. From under the covers and along the floor lay countless thick, green cords. Scant seconds passed as Gordon, Montoya and Bullock stared at the inexplicable thing in front of them.

Then the cords started slithering along the floor, crawling towards the doorway and the three enforcers of the law. Gordon flinched and Bullock gave a surprised cry. The woman sprang from the bed and the covers flew off. But it wasn't really a woman. From behind the woman, who was missing a waist and legs, was a huge gaping maw. An overgrown plant was stretching its mouth at the empty air, hungry for its meal. The only sounds in the room were those of the cover of the bed falling to the floor and the vines slithering along the floor.

Gordon fired again and again into the head of the plant, creating a few holes. Both Bullock and Montoya shot at the vines, but none of their efforts seemed to slow the thing down. The vines were still coming and the mouth was still wide open, despite green liquid flowing freely from the bullet holes.

They backed out and slammed the door shut. Almost immediately the monster began knocking against the wood. They had reached the kitchen when the door splintered behind them. Gordon saw the officer they'd found standing in the doorway. His nervous expression changed into pure terror as they approached and he ran off. Gordon glanced back to see countless vines crawling along the floor at an alarming speed. They cleared the doorway and kept running down the stairs, not looking back. The silence was deafening, pierced only by their heavy breathing and the quiet shuffling sound of the vines.

Finally they were outside the building, breathless and too shocked to speak. The officer was shuddering uncontrollably on the street. The crowd watched them with pitying eyes.

"Somethin' unholy, I told 'em so."

He cast a shuddering breath, pondering what the hell he had just seen and what the hell he was going to do. His theory of the Scarecrow's guilt had proven wrong. That thing was real. But even if it wasn't he couldn't stand still to test the hallucination theory. He looked up at Harvey, whose eyes were wide as saucers.

"Bullock! Get SWAT down here!"

The group of men sat silently in the back of the van, exchanging glances from time to time as the vehicle sped forward. They were armed to the teeth with shotguns, assault rifles and machine guns.

Some of them seemed nervous, occasionally looking at Pretty Boy Floyd for reassurance.

"What the hell are we going up against?" one of them broke the silence, tapping his assault rifle with a finger while his knees moved up and down in a nervous rhythm.

Floyd didn't look at him as he answered.

"Who cares? They'll soon be deader than dead, don't matter who they are."

"You sure are tough, huh, Pretty?" another man piped in.

"Shut it, Connor. And don't call me that."

Connor chuckled.

"Why don't I get to call you that? Ain't we friends? Oh, wait, I really don' wanna be one 'a your _friends_, do I?"

"You're a mouthy little shit, Connor. Keep speaking and I might just be tempted to silence your filthy tongue forever."

Connor chuckled some more, but the rest of the gang stayed silent. It was never a good idea to get mixed up in quarrels between the two self-appointed leaders of the gang of enforcers.

Pretty Boy Floyd glared daggers at his enemy for the rest of the ride.

A few minutes later they arrived at the edges of Robinson park. "We're here!" the driver shouted into the back of the van. Floyd leaned forward.

"Alright. The twit said both that building an' the park are where they hang. Which one you want, Connor?"

"The park? Ya really believe they're chillin' in the park? Or are ya just too scared to go in first? I'll take the apartment."

Floyd shrugged and slid open the door.

"Quick and quiet, guys. Or if things get ugly, just quick."

"Like the police don' have enough on their plate. I'd be surprised if they even showed up if we blew up the whole block."

"Keep the engine running," Floyd told the driver as he stepped out. He set off for the park with his half of the group, their weapons partly concealed within their coats. Connor went into the apartment with the other half.

After just five minutes of walking around the park, his phone rang.

"Ain't nobody up here. Real messy, though. No more 'an a day since 'ey left," Connor's grating voice sounded in his ear.

"Nothin' here yet. Get over here. This place is big.

He could imagine the look of annoyance on Connor's face at being given an order.

"You ain't the boss of me, jackass."

"Alright. If you want to go back home I don't blame ya. The trees are pretty scary this time o' year."

He smiled at the silence on the other end.

"Fuck you, Floyd," his colleague finally replied before hanging up.

He'd do as told and he'd be pissed for the rest of the day. A small victory.

"How about we split up?" one of his underlings asked as they trudged on through the park.

"If they really are here, that'd be pretty stupid wouldn't it? We'll just keep on walking, alright?"

They went on for a good while longer, Connor and his group quickly catching up with them.

"Hate to tell you, Floyd, but it don't look too suspicious here." He chuckled and slapped Floyd on the back. "Nice goin'. We never could'a done this without your perfect information."

"Well, shit," he answered. "Guess I'll just have to pry somethin' more outta the poor sucker, then."

As they turned to leave, one of Floyd's underlings grabbed his shoulder.

"What the hell is that?!" the man shouted just inches from his ear.

Floyd looked where the man was pointing and stared for a few seconds. He was pointing at a bunch of trees a short distance away, their branches blowing in the wind. He looked back at the man.

"I think they're called trees. I'm no expert though."

A few of the guys snickered. But the man did not relent.

"No! They're moving!"

Floyd looked back.

"Ever heard of a thing called the wind, friend? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"But there isn't any wind!"

Floyd paused. He was right. There was no wind. And the trees were shaking wildly, as if they were caught in a storm.

"Sure there is," he started with just a hint of trepidation in his voice, "we're just covered by the…"

He didn't get any farther. The ground beneath the other man tore apart and roots burst forth, entangling him. He shrieked as the roots took hold of him and started to slowly drag him down. The others shouted in alarm and grabbed him, trying to pull him back up.

The man screamed and cried as he clawed frantically at his would-be-saviors. Floyd hacked at the roots with a bowie knife as the others pulled with all their might. The man slowly sank further and further into the ground until only his hand was visible and soon even that was gone with a soft sound of the dirt being pushed aside.

They stood stock still in shocked silence for a few seconds. The silence was deafening. Then everyone came to their senses and ran away as fast as they could. More roots shot out from the ground and grabbed three others before they could even move from the spot.

Floyd heard shouts ring out and die out as he sprinted frantically away. Dirt blasted into the air in front of him as the man just ahead got caught and quickly pulled down all the way to his waist. Floyd ignored the man's cries and jumped over him as the sucker was slowly being sucked into the ground.

Floyd threw away his rifle to try and gain speed. He could hear the occasional gunshot ring out, coupled with even more screams. After the shots died out the only sound was of his heart hammering in his chest. He glanced back and saw only a few of them remained. Connor was just behind him.

He could see the van now, just a bit further away. But there was someone in the way. It was a woman, clad in something green that didn't really look like clothing.

"Stop, please. I must have a word with you. Stop and be spared" she said in a low voice, melodic in tone. How it could even reach him he didn't know. A strange scent filled the air.

_Like hell_, he thought as he brought up his knife and stabbed her straight in the gut. His heart kept trying to break free of his chest as he punched her into the ground. He stood over her and looked around. Two men were trying in vain to crawl out of the ground, but they were no longer being pulled down. Floyd looked down at the woman.

The vines she was wearing slowly crept over the wound and covered it up. She was taking shuddering breaths and staring into the sky with unnaturally green eyes. A solitary tear had forced its way out of one eye and was slowly running down the green skin of her face.

He gave out a sort of nervous giggle.

"Will ya look at that? I done killed me an alien!"

He turned around to laugh with Connor, but he seemed frozen in place.

"No."

He looked back at the woman, who was shakily getting to her feet.

"I _refuse_ to die."

He laughed and raised his knife. Someone grabbed his arm. He elbowed the person behind him in the ribs and spun around. It was Connor, looking even dumber than usual. Floyd smiled as he stabbed him in the eye, blood squirting like a fountain. The idiot grunted and fell to the ground like a sack of bricks.

He turned around again to finish off the broad. She was on her feet now but still looked shaky. He lunged for her. But quicker than he could blink the vines she was wearing had shot out and grabbed his hands, tying them together. The woman stepped closer as he tried to break free.

He felt a searing pain as she raked her nails along his neck.

Almost instantly he collapsed to the ground and lay almost completely limp. Roots rose out of the ground and covered him, as the woman crouched over him. His whole body was aflame with pain.

"Give me one reason not to tear you limb from limb," she panted. The occasional drop of blood fell from between the makeshift bandages.

"I'm important! My boss knows everything about the mob! I'm pretty high up, I can even spy for you!"

She smiled, although she looked like she was about to collapse.

"Wonderful."

She held out a few small seeds.

"Look at them," she said. He stared at them as he squirmed on the ground.

"You are going to eat them. They will survive for almost a week in your digestive system. Betray me and I'll make them grow. Compared to that, the pain you're feeling now will be nothing."

A shudder passed through him. The thought of having one of those hellish plants inside him was terrifying.

"Won't they grow anyway?"

"No, only if I command them to. If you doubt my control over them, just look at what happened to your friends. These aren't just my plants. This isn't just my park. I _am_ the park now."

She stood up and smiled down at him.

"And just as they are, so are you. You belong to me now. When you regain your ability to move, go. Lie to your superiors and gather all the information you can for me. After tomorrow you will leave them and lie low. I'll be in touch."

Floyd spent fifteen minutes more on the ground, writhing in agony, before the poison finally released its hold over him. He shakily got to his feet and walked to the van.

He opened the door of the car. The driver was pale and completely stiff. Floyd carried him into the park and dropped him on the grass. The roots rose from the ground and started encircling the corpse. He went back to the car and sat down in the drivers seat. He let out a shuddering breath. If he played his cards right, he just might survive this. He drove off.

AN: I decided to have the trio of Bullock, Montoya and Gordon because they all appear in Ivy's first episode on BTAS. It's a good episode, even if Ivy is more adorable than scary.

Pretty Boy Floyd is immune to Ivy's charm because he's gay. I toyed with the idea of giving him a gas mask, but that would be ridiculous since he had no idea what he was going up against. Besides, I've always wanted to see a sadistic homosexual gangster. I mean, who hasn't?

Hatter's use of chess is something I've wanted to do for some time now. I often see it used in fiction as an indicator of a character's intelligence. The only problem is that the author's rarely seem to have any knowledge of the game. This isn't limited to fan-fiction, though, I've seen this in a old detective short story where the author ignores all the rules of the game. I've seen it in comics too, Joker beats Ra's al-Ghul at chess. It feels pretty ridiculous because sure, he's smart but Ra's is hundreds of years old and has probably been playing the game for quite some time now. Being a genius doesn't automatically make you a whiz at chess.

Toccata No. 9: Thought I'd given something away when asked for advice, didn't you? Well, HAH! They're not man-eating plants at all! They're man-eating-symbiotic-zombie-plants! I am so smart.

There seems to be a problem with the lines between scenes, so I'm not sure if they'll show up or not. Sincerest apologies if they don't.


	9. Sinnerman

Floyd drove into the parking lot and shut off the engine. He peered around, seeing only a few cars, before stepping out and opening the door to the strip club. The floor was mostly vacant, only a few bouncers hanging around. This early in the day the place was closed to all but members of the organization.

He nodded at them and walked past the stage, feeling their eyes on him the whole way. A sudden panic flared within in his chest and passed just as quickly. They couldn't possibly know. There was nothing unusual about him dropping by.

He started up the stairs, every step on the metal making an uncomfortable clanking noise. He reached the top and made for Giovanni's office, trailing his hand along the railing as he walked. He looked down at the bouncers. They were no longer paying him any attention, but Floyd was still thankful for the relative darkness of the club.

His hand rapped on the boss' door and he scratched uncomfortably at the collar of his suit.

"Come in," came the reply from inside.

He opened the door and tried to walk as casually as possible over to the office desk before letting himself drop into a chair. Giovanni stared down at him from his higher seat.

"You don't bring good news, do you?"

"Well," Floyd smiled, "not terrible news either."

The boss eased back in his chair but kept his gaze fixed on the other man.

"Go on."

"Just the tiniest of snags in our plan, sir. There was nobody there. So I guess…"

"Where are the others?" the older man interrupted.

"The general consensus was that this was the fault of none other than yours truly," he replied and put a hand over his heart, "so here I am, while the others go wherever they please, most likely to indulge in the imbibing of unhealthy substances."

Giovanni seemed to contemplate this for a second, then gestured for Floyd to continue.

"We're pretty sure they were there earlier though. So I guess I'll go see if our informant knows where they could have gone. With your permission, of course."

There was a short silence, although it seemed endless to the strained sociopath. He knew, he knew, oh God he knew.

Then the boss spoke up and Floyd tried not to let out a shuddering breath.

"Step outside for a moment, Floyd."

Floyd did as told, stepping outside and closing the door. He peered over the railing to see the bouncers still in their place and paying no attention. He crouched and pressed his ear against the door. Thankfully it was far from soundproof, the boss no doubt relying on the usual noise of the club to defend against prying ears. But in the current silence, every word Giovanni spoke was audible.

He was speaking on the phone, no doubt to the mysterious big boss.

No one as far down as Floyd knew who the new head of the families was. It was a security measure, a lesson learned from the death of Sal Maroni. Even if the rival gangs were nowhere near powerful or bold enough to strike at the families, the freaks of the city were mad enough to go after anyone. And dangerous enough to possibly succeed.

"It didn't go as planned," he could hear Giovanni say.

"We caught nothin' but air. But I got a suggestion, if you're willin' t' hear it."

There was a short silence as the speaker on the other end replied.

"I know a guy that might be able ta take care of this for us. Has a knack for persuasion. Might just be able ta get t' the bottom of this group. His pay's high but Daggett's reward will do more than cancel it out."

There was another short silence.

"He's a bit of a loose cannon, so we should try ta keep him at arm's length. Yeah, he's good. Remember when the Zuccos disappeared off the face a' the earth? That was him. We didn't even pay him ta do that. Guess somethin' about 'em just set him off."

Floyd could hear Giovanni was smiling slightly when he spoke again.

"Alright. I'll contact him now."

He could hear him punching in the number.

There was a longer silence this time, as if whoever he was calling took forever to answer. When the recipient finally picked up, Giovanni started to greet whoever he was speaking to but was interrupted before he could give out more than an unintelligent mumble.

"It's me, Giovanni. You know. We've done business together a few times. You helped me out with the Zuccos, remember?"

Even Floyd could hear the enraged scream that came from the telephone.

"No, no, no!" Giovanni shouted back, sounding flustered "I helped you rub those bastards out, remember? We're friends."

His voice took on its regular tone again.

"Yeah, that's right. Anyway, listen, I was wonderin' if you'd be willin' ta help me out with something…yeah? Just a little extraction of information, maybe spying if you're able. You'd be payed your usual fee. Extra if you're exceptionally successful."

"So where can I meet you?"

A short time later Giovanni hung up the phone and opened the door.

"I want you to run an errand for me, Floyd. Take two of the boys with you and go get our informant. Bring him back here. We're going to transfer him to a specialist. "

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Gordon did his best to look dignified as the terror left him. The mob stared as Bullock and Montoya started to push them back, establishing a perimeter. The commissioner walked up to the hitherto unnamed officer.

"What's your name, son?"

The cop looked up at him but remained sitting against the wall. He looked as if it took all he had not to run away.

"Fox, sir. Brian Fox."

He stared into the man's eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Can you tell me what happened in there?"

The officer looked away and took a shuddering breath.

"We came here after someone called in a homicide. We went in and there it was. That…that thing."

He stared into empty air as he spoke, his eyes looking unfocused.

"At first we didn't see anything suspicious," he continued, "but then we went into the bedroom. Whole time I'd been creeped out but brushed it off. I knew something was wrong, deep inside. Like I felt it, felt that something unnatural was going on."

Gordon couldn't help but think back to the sight of the thing, but he refrained from showing emotion. It was beyond him how the Scarecrow managed to make everyone hallucinate the same thing, but it had to be what happened.

"Then we went into the bedroom and it sprang out and grabbed my partner. He's dead now. That fucking thing ate him!"

He looked on the verge of tears but managed to pull himself together. Gordon tried desperately to think of something comforting to say, but came up empty.

"I ran. Like a coward. I tried shooting it, but it kept coming. So I ran. But it had already blocked the door. Those arms were everywhere. I found the closet. And hid. Waited as the arms crawled around the place, searching for me. It stroked the cabinet a couple of times. Would've pissed myself if I could. I waited forever, praying for something to save me. I even prayed for a heart attack. Would have been better than dying like that."

Gordon was quiet.

"I know what you think. It almost makes sense too. There's a criminal who can make you see hell itself. But I know, I know it! That was real! It wasn't a hallucination!"

An armored S.W.A.T. van drove up to them and Gordon gave the officer a sympathetic smile.

"You did good. We'll get him for this."

He walked over to the van and informed them of the situation.

Minutes later the team rushed in, armed to the teeth and protected by gas masks. If the Scarecrow was still in there, unlikely as it was, his reign of terror was about to be brought to an abrupt and violent end.

Gordon looked at the crowd, which had almost doubled since earlier. Even if Crane wasn't there, order would be restored in the street. No more talk of unholy monsters.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Joan."

"Good morning, Edward."

He smiled.

"What shall we speak of today?"

She fixed her gaze on his.

"I would like to establish some ground rules. You won't get away with…"

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, waving one hand, the handcuffs clanking.

"First we must speak of Clovis," he finished.

"What?" she asked, realizing right away she'd just walked into a trap.

"Not what, who. And the answer is Clovis. A vicious, power-hungry barbarian."

Her left eye started twitching and she quickly rubbed it in the hope of quelling its rebellion.

"And does he have anything to do with our sessions?"

"Why, of course. He founded the Frankish empire in the fifth century. This is of great importance, I assure you. There's a parallel."

He waited, as if gauging her interest.

"Oh?" she offered and kept rubbing her eye.

The Riddler smiled in satisfaction.

"Batman, of course. What do lunatics speak of other than monstrous myths? Clovis forged out an empire through violent means. Batman is much the same, minus the large scale warfare."

"I can hardly see the resemblance, Edward. What does a criminal have to do with a fifth century king?"

He leaned forward, arrogant grin firmly in place.

"Because they both do whatever they please. Both are above the law. Both _are_ the law. You know it, I know it, the commissioner and every criminal in town knows it. This isn't just plain old Gotham anymore. This is Batman's town. His kingdom."

He leaned back but kept his hands on the table, drumming quietly with his fingers.

"People don't fear the police anymore," he continued. "They fear the Batman. The gangs are in a constant state of war. Batman can beat up as many people as he wants, jump out and scare dozens of thugs every night. It doesn't matter. For every crook he puts away, another takes his place. This town is up for grabs every time Batman removes another player. This is the city of adventure. In Gotham lies glory."

He looked pleased with himself. No doubt enjoying the sound of his own voice.

"The underworld is in a constant turmoil. Things will never settle down. The city will never find a balance, there will never be peace. As long as he is here."

Joan cleared her throat, not sure how to proceed.

"I have to admit, I wouldn't really know much about that. But I see you've given this a lot of thought, even if your opinion may be slightly objective. Now, if you're done, I would like to be allowed to speak."

He gestured for her to continue.

"As you may have noticed, your cell has been emptied. There isn't much I can do to punish you and the blame goes to the guards, but try this again and I will not hesitate to put you in isolation."

He looked like he was going to say something but a shrill scream from outside interrupted him. Joan spun around to face the door. She looked back at him, but his expression, a mix of surprise and annoyance, convinced her he knew nothing.

She stared at the see-through mirror, then the door. If they were still there they would have let her know what was going on. The asylum's alarm system hadn't gone off, so it could hardly be an escaped inmate.

She patted her pocket, realizing she'd left her phone in her office. She cursed under her breath. Tense seconds passed.

"Well?" the Riddler's voice was saccharine.

She turned around to look at him.

"What?"

He was smiling.

"Well, are we going to do something? Or do you intend to wait here?"

"That would be the sane response, yes."

His smile grew wider.

"But what if they're hurt out there? They could be bleeding to death on the other side of that door and you're just going to lock yourself in and hide?"

She turned her back on him and bit her lower lip. She knew she shouldn't, but he was right. She couldn't wait, knowing someone might be hurt out there.

"Besides," he started again, "This is the city of adventure. Weren't you listening?"

She cursed under her breath once more and opened the door just an inch.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The drive had been quiet so far. Floyd checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror, then watched as two of Giovanni's thugs put the bum in the trunk. They got back in the car and Floyd set off. A tense silence reigned the rest of the ride, interspersed with inaudible muttering between the two thugs in the back.

They reached town in just under an hour, the city's majestic skyline greeting them.

He pondered his situation. Would the creepy chick consider driving one of her servants to a new torturer treachery? He hoped not, because there was no way around it.

They drove past the nicer side of town, the skyscrapers with their opaque glass standing proud just a few streets away.

He got the feeling she wouldn't mind. She didn't strike him as the type who cared much for the people working for her. Which didn't bode too well for him either.

They drove through the Narrows, past rows upon rows of rickety buildings and desolate streets, Gotham's less visible face revealing itself.

He had to play his cards right to survive. He had to betray the mob and make himself invaluable to his new superior. He had no idea just what she wanted, but she was powerful. And being by the side of someone powerful was the place to be.

The car reached the strip club, one of the few buildings in the Narrows that didn't look as if it could crumble at any moment. It was one of the hearts of this part of the neighborhood, a place where dark deals were cemented, where both the highest and lowest members of society gathered. It was one of the mob's fortresses. He could tell her that. Maybe he could even sell Giovanni out.

The two thugs left the vehicle and entered the club as he waited in the car along with the bum in the trunk. He could tell her of the extortion ring they operated in this part of the Narrows. He could tell her where drug shipments arrived. He knew of an illegal brothel. But best of all would be if Giovanni could be caught unawares. If he gave her the boss, he was sure to come out on top. Unless, of course, that made him expendable. He bit his nails.

The thugs came back out, along with Giovanni and his bodyguards. The thugs got back in and Giovanni gestured for Floyd to follow before entering his limousine. They set off.

No. He couldn't give her Gio. She would never reward him for it. He'd stabbed her in the gut! She'd kill him in the most gruesome way imaginable. No, he couldn't let Gio get caught. He had to remain important.

The limo turned into a neighborhood that looked even shabbier than the average Narrows street. A few minutes later they took another turn, this time through the rusty little gate of an amusement park. The sign couldn't be read due to the moss covering it.

The wheels of the car made a soothing crunching noise as they slid over the gravel of the park's road.

In the distance, Floyd could see a man standing at a crossroads within the park. As they drew closer, he noticed the man was pointing toward a rickety old house. A haunted house by the look of it. Floyd watched the man in the rear-view mirror. His hand was still stretched out when Floyd finally turned to focus on the road.

By the haunted house was another man, pointing onward down the road. Floyd peered at the man as he slowly drove by. The guy looked like he was on something. There was no focus in his eyes, no expression on his face. Like he wasn't real. More of a ghost than a man.

They drove on for a couple of minutes, passing one more ghost before stopping in front of a house. It looked normal but run down, like it might have been the home of the park's owner. Dozens of men were scattered in front of the house, standing stock still and staring into empty space. Floyd could see someone standing in the shade of the doorway, but couldn't make much out apart from a top hat on his head.

The limousine stopped and Giovanni stepped out. His bodyguards followed suit and so did Floyd. Giovanni didn't seem to acknowledge the ghosts' existence, just stared at the doorway with a friendly smile on his face as he slowly made his way to the house. His bodyguards glanced around uneasily as they followed.

The man in the doorway sprang forth, coming into the bright light of the setting sun. He was short and clad in a blue overcoat and pants, a bow tie adorning his neck. But his unusual choice of clothing was easily forgotten once Floyd moved his gaze to the man's face. He looked even emptier than the ghosts around them, his eyes devoid of the joviality his voice expressed.

"Welcome! Welcome!", he said and held out his arms.

Then there was the smile. It was so wide it would have looked uncomfortable on anyone else, but on him it seemed to fit perfectly with the rest of his unnatural demeanor. It held no hint of mirth or friendliness. It was a soulless smile.

Giovanni smiled back and moved to shake the man's hand.

"Mr. Tetch, always a pleasure!"

The strange man cocked his head, but kept smiling.

"Oh dear. What a terrible misunderstanding. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else. I am the Mad Hatter."

Giovanni looked surprised for just a fraction of a second before recovering.

"No, no, no! Merely a mistake on my half, Mr. Hatter. You simply remind me of an old friend, I must have mixed the names. I'm terribly sorry."

The Hatter clapped his hands and let out a single loud chuckle of satisfaction.

"Ha! Wonderful! Step inside, shall we?"

He didn't wait for a response but ran back inside. The mobsters followed and some of the ghosts started moving slowly toward the door.

Giovanni went inside with two of his men. Floyd entered next, the Hatter's eyes resting on him for just a second before dismissing him. More of Giovanni's men moved up to the door.

"No roOm, nO rooM!" the Hatter said, his voice taking on an eerie tone. He sounded like he was reciting a poem.

Giovanni signaled for his men to stay outside. Three ghosts entered and the Hatter slammed the door shut. He turned around and ushered them along into the next room, seating them at a long table with enough seats for at least a dozen people. He and Giovanni took a seat, but the rest remained standing. Floyd looked up at the ghosts, who had all stopped just inside the room. They were all staring straight ahead into nothing. They were sweaty and badly sun burnt, like they'd been out there for a long time.

"Let's talk business, Mr. Hatter," Giovanni started. He didn't seem to be the least bit perturbed at the absurdity of the situation, or his address.

"Yes, very well. Information you need, you say? Infiltration, if luck allows?"

He poured two cups of tea as he spoke and thrust one over to Giovanni.

"Yes, that's about it," Giovanni replied. He took a small sip, probably to please the Hatter rather than for his own pleasure. He went on.

"You'd receive your usual fee, as I said." The Mad Hatter finished his tea in one gulp, showing no sign of discomfort.

"That would be frabjous. I do find myself in need of money. My creations are not cheap after all. Neither was this wondrous new residence of mine."

His eyes swiveled in his head, inspecting the room with an appraising look.

"You…bought this place?"

Giovanni's voice betrayed just a hint of confusion.

"Dear me, no! I am merely renting it."

The mobster didn't quite manage to hide his befuddlement.

"I…see. So you'll do it?"

The Hatter's eyes finally stopped spinning about.

"I do believe I will. Have your cards bring it in, please."

Giovanni gestured for his men.

"Bring him in. Then you can leave, Floyd. I'll be in touch."

He did as commanded, carrying the pained captive inside the house, then walked back out and drove away without looking back.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Muffled gunshots rang out from inside the building. Some in the crowd screamed and officer Fox started praying on the pavement. Bullock reached for his gun and Gordon ran over to the S.W.A.T. van.

"What's going on in there?" he shouted at the two men inside.

"I'm not sure," the driver answered as his partner tried to contact the team inside. The sound of gunshots was still going strong. A minute passed this way, everyone staring up at the building.

Then it finally stopped. Gordon turned from the van and stared up at the top floor. Minutes later a man emerged from the doorway and gestured for Gordon to speak with him. As he drew closer the man took his gas mask off. He was white as a sheet.

"I've got some bad news, Commissioner."

The man's eyes darted to the crowd and he leaned closer before continuing.

"It...there wasn't any fear toxin. That was...it was real."

"That's impossible!" Gordon replied in a disbelieving whisper. "What happened?"

"It was real! It attacked and we shot it to pieces. No casualties. But the…woman may be hard to identify."

"I need to see it."

They raced up the stairs and entered the bedroom. Gordon had to cover his nose at the smell, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The creature was little more than goo at this point, splattered over the walls and floor. The remains of the woman were not a pretty sight either.

"It's real," he droned in a lifeless voice.

The leader of the team sighed.

"Yeah."

"What does it mean?"

The man looked around uncomfortably.

"Time to start reading the Bible again?"

Emily made sure the bathroom door was locked before turning on the shower. Steam filled the room as she stripped and stepped under the spray.

The warm water cascading over her soothed her aching body, but her mind remained uneasy. She didn't dare close her eyes.

The doctors had said the poison had run its course, that it was out of her system. But she could still feel the taint inside of her.

She was safe, she knew that. But she didn't _feel_ safe. She was in a strange house, far from her own apartment. There was no way he could find her. She knew that.

And even if he did, there were two cops in the house with her and another two in the opposite house keeping vigil. There was no way he could come in undetected. It still wasn't enough.

It felt inevitable. He would come and she would die. She would never see her family again. She would never be happy again.

How would a few cops stop him? How would hiding help? He was barely human. He tortured people for no reason other than his own enjoyment. For research.

But it wasn't real research. It didn't benefit anyone. He didn't share it with anyone. He would keep it to himself as long as he lived.

And after he was dead, it would hopefully be burned. No-one should want such evil knowledge.

But they would. It would be used for warfare, for torture. His invention would go on destroying lives forever.

It was hopeless.

Tears joined the water running down her face. She thought of the prisoners he still kept. Locked away in a dungeon and locked inside their own minds.

She tried to explain to herself how she got into this. Tried to put the pieces together. She remembered leaving work. It seemed like an eternity ago. Like the memories of another person.

The only memories that felt real started with her waking up. With him standing there.

She shifted her feet uncomfortably. It felt like the water was getting thicker in some way.

He had stood there in the cold darkness, tinkering with something. He'd spoken. Not to her. She wasn't a person to him.

The feel of the water on her feet was unpleasant. It felt like it was gripping her. She shook her legs to rid herself of the feeling.

Then he'd stepped closer, showing her what he'd been doing. A clear liquid inside a syringe, the sharp point glinting cruelly as it came closer…

She felt a stinging pain in her arm and flinched. She looked down. Her legs were up to the ankles in blood, the thick liquid sloshing around. Her whole body turned red as the blood cascaded over her. She opened her mouth to scream.

Then it was gone. She was left breathing heavily, leaning against the wall for support. The shower was filled with nothing but water.

She turned the flow off and stepped out, staring at herself in the mirror. Her chest was heaving as if she was having an asthma attack, but there was no sign of a syringe mark on her arm.

She dried off haphazardly and threw on her clothes before rushing out into the living room.

The cops stared at her apprehensively. She swallowed, her throat feeling as dry as a desert. The cops said something as she sat down on the coach with them.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, it's nothing," she answered.

The cops made a few reassuring comments and then kept quiet. She thanked them in her mind as her breathing returned to normal. The water dripped from her hair and soaked part of the sofa, but neither cop seemed to mind.

Minutes passed in silence until one of the cops stood up.

"Gonna check on the guys," he mumbled wearily as he left the room.

Emily closed her eyes and leaned her head back. Her breathing was rhythmic and smoothing, each intake making her head that much clearer. She was safe, she was safe. She repeated it in her mind like a mantra.

The sound of footsteps reached her from outside. Her ears perked up and her eyes opened. She tilted her head to see through the slits of the blinds. Her heart jumped as she sprang to the window and peered out.

Standing just outside the light of a lamppost was a man. His clothing was tattered and what little she could see of his head didn't look like skin. His hands were stretched out from his sides and his head hung limply. It was a scarecrow. A burst of wind made his long, dark and tattered coat stretch out from his frame.

She fell to her knees and the officer rushed over to her. He peered out the window before crouching down over her.

"What's wrong? There's no-one there."

His hand was on her shoulder and his eyes were torn between pity and alarm. She stammered a bit, unable to tell him.

The other officer returned.

"They ain't answerin'."

Emily's shaking got worse.

"What's wrong?" the officer asked.

"She saw something. Should we call for backup?"

"Yeah. Maybe they're all right, but I don' wanna take no chances. Not with that freak."

The first officer nodded and reached for his phone. There came a quiet sound from outside.

Emily's eyes felt like they were bulging out of her head and the cops both froze. Slow footsteps were growing louder, drawing closer. Then they stopped.

One of the cops reached for his gun and the other exchanged glances with him.

Then came a knocking on the door. Three slow knocks against the stout wood. Emily's jaw clenched.

Both cops now had guns in hand, one of them still trying to call for backup. His hands shook slightly.

There came three more knocks, followed by a strange noise, as if someone was clawing at the door.

The cops exchanged worried glances.

Three more knocks.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Three knocks rapped on the door.

Floyd's head snapped up and he stared dumbly at the door for a moment before rushing over, gun in hand. He peered out the hole.

And saw a woman he'd never seen before. He opened the door as far as the chain would allow.

"Yeah?"

Her eyes moved slowly to meet his, but otherwise made no reply. Floyd stared back.

"Well, goodbye then," he offered and moved to close the door.

"Let us in please," a voice reached his ears. It reminded him of trickling water in the forest.

Funny. He'd never known he could be poetic. The guys would have a lark if they found out. But they were dead, weren't they?

He opened the door and let her in. She was escorted by two tramps. If his life still had any sense of normalcy he'd wonder who they were.

She passed into the living room as he stood still by the doorway. He still had his gun in his hand. He looked down at it.

He could shoot her. He could kill them all and run away.

As if sensing his thoughts, one of the tramps clamped a hand on the gun. He looked up at her and smiled. Half-sheepish, half-smarmy. She wasn't angry.

Why did everyone have dead eyes today?

He let it go and walked into the living room. The plant lady was crouched over his potted plant. It too was dead.

He really should have thought of that earlier. She gave him a slightly disappointed look. He actually felt kinda sorry.

She sat down gently and those inhuman eyes stared up at him. He sat down opposite her. She looked out of place on the leather chair.

She wasn't wearing her living clothing this time. She had ivy on her wrists and her skin was still a faint green, but otherwise she looked almost normal. She was wearing a yellow summer dress. He guessed the recently surfaced poet inside him would liken her to a flower. He settled for thinking of her as pretty. It was the manly thing to do.

"What do you have for me?"

Her voice snapped him out of his poetic inner anguish. He was slow to answer.

"Uh."

He'd be much more elegant if he didn't feel so weird. This might as well be a dream.

"Right, right, here we go," he shook his head to get back into his normal groove, or as close to it as he could.

"They've got one of your guys. And they delivered him to some creepy little guy. Said he could dig out some secrets. Might even try to rub you out."

She propped a hand against the armrest and lay her head on her palm. It was adorable. She was still the scariest person he knew.

"When did they acquire this prisoner?"

"Few days ago."

He tried to run the possibilities through his head. In no way was he to blame.

"And why didn't you tell me earlier?"

The next words from his mouth poured forth like the bullets of a machine gun.

"I was busy being force-fed killer seeds."

"Of course. How vindictive of me. But then again, I do dislike being stabbed."

His eyes moved to her stomach. Maybe the wound was hidden. Even so, it seemed she had shrugged it off in a day.

"Where can I find this man?"

He paused for a second.

"Amusement park. In the Narrows. Hard to find. But I can find it again, if you need me to."

She smiled.

"Later. Tell me what else you know."

He put out his hand and started ticking off his fingers.

"Extortion, human trafficking, drug smuggling. I know a little about all of those operations. The extortion branch was kind of my thing, before you killed all my guys. I know of a few more leg-breakers we can bump off. Giovanni handles the profits of that. He runs a strip-club. I don't know much about the trafficking, but I know of a brothel that keeps 'em, someone there must know. I know where the drugs arrive and know a few pushers, but nothing high up."

"Who is Giovanni?"

"He's my boss. He knows who the big boss is. He's untouchable though. Once he notices the guys aren't coming back, he'll make the club a fortress."

She closed her eyes. Floyd looked away. The tramps were standing right behind him. He hadn't heard them take a single step. He looked straight ahead again. Tried to hide his discomfort. But they probably didn't care anyway.

Three heavy knocks sounded on the door. His head shot up for the second time that evening. She was looking at him.

"Expecting someone?"

His jaw moved up and down for a while before his voice got the message.

"Executioners maybe."

Whoever was knocking apparently lost their patience. The door was forced open and heavy footsteps marched in.

"Oh, Flo-oyd!"

The voice was deep and brash.

"Boss wants ta know just where the rest 'a the guys are. Nothing personal."

They walked into the room, twelve broad-shouldered thugs. The leader noticed Floyd's company and whistled.

"Nice going, bro. I always thought you were a fruit."

Apparently he didn't notice anything off about her.

"Now how can I make you talk?"

He smiled cruelly.

"Well, since you were so thoughtful."

The gang chuckled as he walked over to her.

"Don't mind if I do."

Then he stopped, noticing her color. The next few seconds were surreal. He bent forward to inspect her closer with the dumbest look Floyd had ever had the pleasure of seeing on someone's face. She smiled coyly, said something like: "Do I have something on my face?"

Then the plant around her neck sprang up and pricked him in the neck. He recoiled in surprise and seconds later he was on the floor in convulsions. The other goons reached for their weapons and the tramps attacked. With something coming out of their backs. They stabbed faster than Floyd's eyes could follow and soon all the guys were down. The things retracted into the backs of the women. He could still see the things through their tattered clothing. It was the single most disgusting thing he'd ever seen. In his profession, that was saying a lot.

She smiled over at him.

"So. Who wants to go to the amusement park?"

XXXXXXX

AN: Sinnerman as performed by Nina Simone.

Clovis was the founder of the Frankish empire. He may not make a perfect comparison but I just read about him and thought he was interesting. Besides, random information is always fun.

I realize I may have gone just a wee bit overboard with all the knocking, but I can't help it.

Tell me what you think about this one. I'm not too sure how I feel about it. Does Ivy's slight sign of a sense of humor fit? Does Gordon feel incompetent? I always seem to have a hard time writing the good guys. Their sections always seem to flow worse. This is very sad.


	10. Hold Tight

Alfred stood still as a statue as the elevator hummed on its way down. Worry nagged at his mind. The master was out of bed. Escaping death by a hair's width, Bruce was sure to go out once more and seek it out yet again.

The elevator clanked in place and the door slid back. He set off at a brisk pace and soon caught sight of the lord of the manor, sitting at his gigantic computer. On one screen the television droned away.

The armor might look impenetrable and proud, but the unmasked face proved his mortality. There were bags under his eyes and his skin was pale as a sheet, the color accentuated by the bright glow from the screen. He looked positively vampiric.

The butler's approach went ignored. He stared over the younger man's shoulder for a few moments before taking the initiative.

"Feeling better, Master Bruce?" his hesitant voice broke the silence.

The master did not reply, merely tapped on the keyboard. A new image popped up on the screen. It was a picture of a expressionless woman in a lab coat, with red hair and blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.

"From what I can gather, this is who we're dealing with. Dr. Pamela Isley. Worked for Wayne Enterprises, went missing under suspicious circumstances a few years ago. Expert on poisons"

Another click and another image. This time a middle-aged man in a tux.

"Nathan Redville. Stabbed to death not long ago. No traces of poison, but I've still got a feeling it's her doing. Dozens of neighbors, all showed signs of being drugged. Substance unknown. Redville's bodyguard vanished. Whereabouts unknown. I looked into Redville's past. Seems he was one of many responsible for a environmentally questionable deal. And guess what? He was the sole survivor of the meeting that sealed the deal. A few weeks before, all his partners died. Food poisoning."

He pointed to the screen showing the news. A caption at the bottom read: Black Death Watch. The image was of a hospital, showing worried families waiting in the reception.

"Her work. The police report states all the plague-bearers were homeless men. Much of the homeless populace vanished days before. I had a run-in with one of them while snooping around as Matches Malone. Said he'd seen something strange. A green woman."

Another click and a police report popped onto the screen.

"And here is where I finally ran into her. When the police got there, they found blood smears on the floor. They got DNA out of it. It belonged to Joe Maddock. One of the Joker's old henchmen. Last I heard of them, the group was still together, doing small jobs for various people, living off of their employer's reputation."

He leaned back in his chair.

"But I don't know why he was killed. He doesn't fit into the scheme. Assassination of businessmen, all-out terrorism, then suddenly a few low-level criminals are murdered? What's the pattern?"

A tense silence reigned in the cave, broken only by the screeching of the bats. Alfred coughed uncomfortably. Bruce was always determined, but now he looked like he wanted to burn the screen to cinders with his eyes.

"Wait. What if it wasn't her idea? There was someone else there."

A photo of a cheery blonde woman filled the screen.

"Harleen Quinzel. She was there. Meeting with the Joker's men. The leader's dead. And now she presumably leads them. I don't know how she met Isley, but one thing's certain. She wants to break him out again."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The ride was silent, apart from Renee's nervous fingers tapping the dashboard. Bullock kept his eyes on the road. He had no idea what to do.

"We ain't bein' paid enough."

She looked over at him with a ghost of a smile.

"No. We're not."

He opened his mouth but couldn't say anything. Instead he watched the people they whizzed by. Just walking around, doing normal stuff. Shaken by the terrorists, but staying sane. They had no idea.

The car crawled on, along with the silence. Bullock took off his hat. The heat was stuffing, even though it was almost midnight.

"Get a load of that guy."

Bullock slowed down and got out of the car, Montoya reluctantly following. Standing at the foot of a statue of some old Wayne was a man clad in a red monk's robe and hood. A dozen people were crowded around him.

"We're all doomed! This is the price we pay for corruption! For making Gotham a den of sin!"

Bullock tapped a man in the audience on the shoulder.

"Who is this clown?"

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Called himself the Monk. Dunno what he wants."

The red-clad man kept on preaching.

"The Green rains death upon this city! You think it's over? It has barely begun! The earth itself rejects you!"

Bullock turned around with a frown on his face. Looked like the kook had heard the rumors.

"Blah, blah, blah. Lunatic. Let's get outta here."

They got back in the car and kept on driving. Montoya had a far-away look in her eyes. The silence became even more jarring. Bullock turned on the radio.

"…and so the death toll rises to nearly 8000. Hospitals in the Gotham area are overflowing, but doctor's are optimistic that the recovery rate…"

He shut it off again with a scowl. He needed a drink. Or three.

A short while later they were walking up the steps to the station. They were met with dozens of curious faces when they entered. Apparently they'd heard. Bullock walked over to Stephens.

"So what's goin' on?"

Stephens looked confused.

"We got more calls about those…things. SWAT's dealing with it. Apparently one of them is being shipped for examination. Gordon's probably gonna make his statement in a few hours."

He ran a hand over the scar on his neck before continuing.

"Is it actually…y'know. Is it real?"

Bullock walked away. He couldn't take it much longer. He needed to get home, drink a gallon of vodka. Needed to forget.

The burly man barreled through the door without looking ahead. The unfortunate soul on the other side was thrown back, tumbling down the steps. Bullock ran down after him, cursing loudly. The other man came to a stop in the middle of the steps, his hands scraped and his hat crushed under him. He started crying.

"Aw, geez, Rand, I'm sorry,"

The man looked up, tears flowing freely down his face.

"I-I killed them."

Bullock couldn't move. He couldn't think either. The look in Randall's eyes was pure desperation.

"I killed them!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She stuck her head out, peering up and down the corridor. No sign of the orderlies. She ran a hand through her hair. What was going on?

"Don't just stand there. The people have need of you, Joan."

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the closeness of his voice. She spun around, mustering all the authority she could into her voice.

"Get back, Ed…"

He stood there with that familiar grin, amusement in his eyes. He held up the useless handcuffs with one outstretched finger. She'd never thought of him as physically intimidating, but he was still taller than her. And feeling him looking down at her was definitely uncomfortable.

She gave a tiny squeak before jumping out the door and trying to slam it in his face. He put his hands against the door and slowly pushed it open, nearly knocking her against the wall in the process.

"Come now, Joan. You know I'd never hurt you."

She didn't like this one bit. She doubted he'd hurt her, but that knowledge did not alleviate her fears. And if the asylum was compromised, he might escape. She darted a quick look down the corridor. There was an alarm not far down.

"You know me, or close enough. We're going to find out what's going on. Of course, if the opportunity for escape presents itself, I'll take it.," he leaned against the wall with one hand in a classic bully stance, his face uncomfortably close, "If not, I'll help out."

She drew a few shuddering breaths before answering.

"That doesn't make much sense, Edward. Help out with what?"

"Details, details. I'm simply offering to escort you through the dark corridors of a lunatic asylum."

He finally stepped back and she felt as if a weight had been lifted.

"And what if I refuse?"

He leaned his back against the wall opposite and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Then I'll be forced to leave you here. Someone has to help the poor orderlies, after all."

She thought it over and simultaneously tried to calm herself down. Maybe if she went back inside and waited for him to leave, she could reach the alarm after he'd left. Unlikely, but possible.

"I suppose I can't stop you. But I'd rather stay here."

He shrugged and pulled forth a set of keys, swinging them around by the chain.

"Your choice, of course."

He slowly walked away as he spun the keys, whistling as he went.

She stared at the closed door, then patted her now empty pocket. She stared down both directions of the dark hallway before following after him, gnashing her teeth.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Everything went quiet at the door. None of them moved. The officers started whispering frantically.

"Shit! How'd he find us?"

"Don't matter. It's him, it's gotta be him."

"Don't just stand there, call for backup!"

"I'm doin' it, I'm doin' it!"

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Where are those fucking gas-masks?"

He ran off into the next room while the other fiddled with his phone. Emily stared out the window. The night was dark.

"This is Robson!" the cop hissed at his phone. "He's here! We need backup now!"

Something ran past the window. Emily stopped breathing, the cop dropped his phone and pulled out his gun. Everything went silent again, except for the indistinguishable din from the phone.

The other one returned, throwing a mask at Robson and kneeling down to fasten one on her.

"You called it in yet?"

His voice was slightly muffled by the mask on his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're on their way. Should we retreat to the second floor?"

They seemed calmer now, safe in their masks. Emily did not calm down. It couldn't be this easy.

"I say we kill him. What is he without his gas? Just a skinny little psychologist."

The sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. The cops rushed in and Emily peaked around the corner.

"He's not inside. No way."

"But what do we do? No way we're goin' anywhere near that window. Let's just wait for back-up."

The tone in the other cop's voice suggested he wanted to do otherwise, but he didn't push it.

"Alright. We'll wait him out."

Another window shattered in the next room and the cops darted over to it.

"Let's just get to the second floor. There's no way we can keep watch over all the windows. He's gettin' in sooner or later. Plenty of ways in here, but only the stairs if he wants to come up."

"Ok, let's just get the chick and go."

They tore her to her feet and ran up the stairs, throwing a table down as a shield at the top, hiding behind it with guns at the ready. Everything was quiet downstairs.

"And now we wait. No way he's gettin' up here."

The front door slowly creaked open downstairs. The cops exchanged glances.

"What's he doin'?"

"Just shut up and wait."

A few moments passed. There was no sound apart from their heavy breathing and the open door occasionally bumping against the wall.

"Where's back-up?"

"Just stay calm. We're on top of this."

A loud and unforgiving noise came from Robson's front pocket. He flinched before taking out his phone.

"It's the guys. Or their phone at least."

He let it ring for a few more moments before answering.

"_Would you like to see your friends?"_

It was spoken in a whisper, but they all heard it. The voice alone sent shivers up and down her spine.

"Fuck you, creep."

He shut off the phone.

"Let that son of a bitch come. I'm gonna blow his head off."

The other cop said nothing. More tense moments passed. Robson's face was drenched in cold sweat.

Footsteps sounded from downstairs. They were slow and heavy, drawing closer to the stairs. Both cops raised their weapons. Someone stepped into view.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wide blue eyes and blond hair pulled back by an unseen hand, a sickle resting against his exposed neck. He trembled visibly.

"_I need you to walk up, John. Your friends are there. They are your only hope."_

The man started his slow and awkward journey up the stairs, the Scarecrow following in his footsteps.

"Let the officer go!" Robson shouted, his voice cracking slightly.

The Scarecrow didn't answer. They continued slowly up the stairs, one step at a time. Nearly nothing was visible of Scarecrow behind the bigger man, only a hint of his leg whenever they took another step.

"Come on, John! You're a freakin' bodybuilder, man! You can beat him to a pulp before he can even touch you with that rusty sickle!"

John's eyes settled on Robson's.

"N-no. The s-s-shadows are too deep. He'll eat me."

The Scarecrow chuckled. They took another step.

Robson stood up, stepped over the fallen table and rushed at them.

"You're dead, you little creep!"

The Scarecrow's hand shot out from behind his shield and Robson fell with a gasp. The other cop jumped slightly and raised his gun. The hand jerked again and he too fell. Emily could see something sticking out from his neck.

Scarecrow stood still as Robson pulled the dart out of his leg.

"What the hell?"

He shakily got to his feet.

"_Stand still. Or he dies."_

"You gonna kill him with that? No way."

_"It's laced with toxin. Another dose would be fatal."_

Robson didn't know what to do. He kept his gun aimed at John, but his hand wasn't steady. He made no move to attack or step back up.

The Scarecrow reared his ugly head and Robson fainted. John was pushed down the stairs and alone stood Scarecrow. He stared straight at Emily, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her. The sickle remained in his hand.

"_Are you ready?"_

Emily stopped breathing.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Harleen Quinzel felt good right about now. Maybe it was her upcoming reunion with her lover. Maybe it was the wind blowing through her tassels. Maybe it was the fact she was riding the shiniest convertible she'd ever had. Maybe it was the awesome song on the radio.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the big, shiny M-16 resting by her arm and the crate of grenades in the passenger seat.

Yep, life was sweet.

A loud bang rang over the purr of the engine as her bubblegum popped.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Giovanni let himself sink into the plush leather seat. He deserved some comfort, after a whole day of dealing with that madman. He gave the two bodyguards a glance. They hadn't acknowledged him yet, apart from the one who let him in.

He was seated in an uncomfortably dark room in a dark and ugly compound in the Narrows. But unappealing as it might look from the outside, on the inside it was lavishly furnished. The walls were decked with hunting trophies, the furniture was the most expensive you could find today and the staff all wore expensive suits. Even if their influence had diminished, the mob was still the most powerful institution in Gotham. Only Bruce Wayne and Oswald Cobblepot could rival the boss in extravagance.

He cleared his throat and looked at the man on the other side of the desk. The new leader of the families sat with one leg crossed over the other, puffing away on a fat cigar and one hand clasping a glass of brandy. He was clad in a gray suit, blending with the smoke hanging thick about him.

"Speak," the boss began. His voice was deep and smooth. Giovanni always felt there was a hint of malice to it.

"He's workin' on it as we speak. It took me a while ta negotiate the terms with him, but he finally agreed to the regular fee. He'll probably be done later tonight, so all we can do is wait."

A short silence followed and the boss kept puffing away.

"Have you seen the news?"

Giovanni took a while to answer, trying to keep a frown of confusion registering on his face.

"Yeah?"

The boss leaned back in his chair.

"Almost 8000 dead, they say."

He finished the brandy in one sip before continuing.

"It really does seem like this city's going to hell, doesn't it?"

Giovanni felt those cold, calculating eyes on him. He missed Sal. Even if the new leader had taken the mob to new heights, Sal had at least shown a hint of respect.

"I guess it does. But we'll take care of those loonies. Things'll quiet down again."

"No."

The reply had a note of anger to it, but it dissipated as he went on.

"No. No, they won't. It will only escalate. That's why we'll seize this opportunity. The police have their hands full. The Batman has stayed quiet for the last few days. Our enemies won't be expecting it. It's time to attack, Giovanni."

He couldn't answer right away, the madness of it silencing him.

"But, sir, shouldn't we focus on the threat at hand? These are dangerous people and they're gunning for us. We can't just ignore that."

The boss leaned forward and stared at him. That unmoving face stared at Giovanni as he spoke.

"You're too cautious. You don't see. We're warriors, Giovanni. And from the dawn of time, warriors have been as gods on earth. In ancient times they were exempt from mundane occupations, beneficiaries of the sacrifices of grain and gold, they reigned over the other castes and classes. The warrior is the Mercury of mortality, a divine messenger of Death."

Giovanni could not answer. This was insane.

"The whole existence of warriors is involved with the mystery and glory of death, along with a exalted status in society. We who deal in death are raised above the masses. The power is ours. We need but take it."

He was starting to sweat. The bodyguards still showed no sign of interest. This man was insane. Absolutely insane.

"Are you sure, sir? We're already at war with the loonies, is it really wise to attack the other organizations?"

"Fortune favors the audacious, Giovanni."

He chuckled and looked at his watch.

"I've already told the others. We start tonight. Hours from now the streets will run red. We'll wash our foes away in a tide of blood. We will regain our rightful place. We will rebuild Carmine's empire. We will be the last standing."

Giovanni nervously ran a hand through his graying hair. This could not end well.

"You look scared. Don't worry, your branch won't be needed until tomorrow night. You won't be on the frontlines either. Unless, of course, your operation is attacked. Then you'll have to prove your worth."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Floyd stepped out of the car, she and her servants following suit.

"This is the place."

They'd gone back to the park. She'd brought out a dozen bums. Armed to the teeth, fueled by anger and what seemed to be adoration. The not-quite-women with the tattered backs were still with them. He wasn't sure what troubled him more, all these strange people or her casual attitude around them. He was starting to doubt she was really human.

She hadn't changed her clothes, but it seemed like she'd stacked up on vines. Every time her dress fluttered in the breeze, he could see some of the vines slowly slithering over her skin.

"Do you remember which building?", she asked as she toyed with the blow-gun hanging from her neck.

"Yeah. It's the only normal looking house. Relatively."

She crooked a finger at her followers and set off. The walk was silent, a slight breeze keeping the heat from being stuffing. It was already past midnight, but still the heat lingered. He stared at his feet as he trudged on.

He used to think the freaks were a good thing. There was a certain flair to them. Guys like the Joker and the Riddler. They had style.

But these people were just unnerving. People who didn't really notice you, spoke down to you when they did. Who surrounded themselves with servants who didn't look at all healthy in the mind. Who had no plans, at least none that could be understood by a normal person. He still had no idea what she wanted, but money wasn't high on that list.

"Is that the one you were talking about?"

He looked up.

"Yeah."

None of the brain-dead guards were there. No light was on inside. They walked up to the building.

She pushed open the door. There was a slight creak but no sign or sound of life from inside. She waved her hand and the bums rushed in. She followed at a leisurely pace. Floyd went after her, but the tramps stayed outside the door.

Floyd stepped into the living room with her. The bums went through the house loudly, rushing hither and thither. She inspected the long table and the cups and discs. It seemed like he hadn't cleaned up after his little tea party.

The bums all rushed into the room and stood at the ready. She slowly moved her head to look at him, a patient smile on her face.

"There's other places in the park. Maybe he's interrogating him somewhere else."

She hummed slightly in response and walked back out. Everyone followed. They set off for the next building in sight. The house of horrors.

"Seems as good a bet as any, right?", he asked nervously. The silence was starting to drive him mad.

She didn't answer. They kept walking.

Soon, they had reached the house. She went in first this time, followed by Floyd and the bums. The women came inside but stayed by the door as the rest of the group moved onward.

"Hmm. If he's here, he's seen us," she pointed at a camera in the corner of the ceiling. "All the more reason to remove him."

Every room they went through had one. There were also speakers scattered around the house, but no voice reached their ears. They carried on. Still there was no one in sight.

Finally they reached a heavy looking door, behind which lay stone steps leading down.

"A dark cellar. That does sound promising. If he's in this park at all, he must be down there."

They all walked down the stairs and entered in the same order as before. The cellar was as silent as the rest of the building, but much darker. The only thing Floyd could really see was a thick curtain hanging in front of them. The bums went to work pulling it away. They were met with the sight of a big glass tube. And in that tube was a person. A catatonic-looking person.

She signaled for her men to draw back the next curtain. Then the next and the next. In a short while the room was filled with a cacophony of screams. He could barely hear her voice.

"What on earth is this?"

The people were all going crazy, beating against the glass, screaming themselves hoarse. One cage was covered in blood. Floyd felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Who the hell was this guy? And what the hell had Floyd ever done to deserve this?

The bums finally showed a real emotion. Fear. They kept glancing at her and then back at the screamers. She massaged her temple as she glanced round the room.

After listening to the unbearable noise for a few moments more, she turned away with a look of disgust in her eyes. They all followed.

"He's gone. I'll just have to meet him some other day," she muttered half to him, half to herself as they escaped the horrible noise.

They stepped outside only to be met with a blinding light shining into their eyes.

"Freeze! This is the GCPD! You are surrounded! Get down on the ground with your arms above your head!"

He could see her fists clench and barely heard her muttering.

"I've had just about enough of this."

XXXXXXXXXXX

The Mad Hatter hummed to himself merrily as he tinkered with one of his devices. He was alone in the cellar, apart from the lowly worm bound to a chair in the middle of the sterile room.

Outside and above his pawns waited with baited breath, keeping watch. It would not do if someone were to barge in and ruin the process. Would not do at all.

He walked gingerly over to his newest project, each tap of his shiny shoes against the grimy stone echoing loudly in the windowless room. It was hard to tell if the chair's occupant was conscious or merely writhing in pain while sleeping. Matter it did not.

He tilted his hat back and put on his concentrated yet friendly face. Rudeness was always unhelpful, regardless the circumstances. He prodded the fruits of the mob's labors, dotted all over the skin.

"Infantile," he muttered under his breath.

Thankfully the card was now in the hands of an expert. No more clumsy antics, befuddling incompetence no more. Merely a beautiful instrument of truth.

He placed the hat on the head, careful lest he crumple it.

"Now then. Yes. Let us open the mind."

XXXXXXXXXX

AN: Some tiny threads wrapped up here. Have to admit I' d almost completely forgot about Mr. Redville. Kinda fell into the shadow of the 8000 dead people thing. Really should have tried figuring out just how high the death toll was before I went on with it. Feels just a tad much. Oh, well, they're fictional people anyway. And if she really wants to destroy civilization, it really does suggest quite a lot of casualties if she makes any progress. Still, sheesh.

Hold tight is a song with Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. If you've seen Death Proof you may remember it.

The scar on Stephens' neck is from TDK. He's the guy who Joker takes hostage. It involves something being held against his neck, broken glass if I remember correctly. Ergo, scar.

The mob boss's speech about "messenger of Death" and things in that vein is taken almost straight from a book called "The Military Occult Complex". That paragraph comes in the introduction and it just screamed "Madman's monologue!" at me.

I really have to make this up to Harley sometime. Apart from the next chapter, she's almost always a side note. At least she gets to be a ray of sunshine. And when all is said and done, what more can we ask of in life?

The Monk serves absolutely no purpose. I just felt the urge to give him a cameo. He was Batman's first foe, I believe, and a vampire to boot. So here he is, knowing more than he should. I added the statue of some old Wayne because I always get the feeling, both in comics and movies, that Gotham would be nothing without the family. Remember that conversation from BB?"Did you build this train dad?" -"Dramatic dialogue, son. We're saints." Then the part with some ancestor having helped free slaves. And that is why I felt Gotham needed a statue. Of a Wayne.

Please excuse the officers' foul language. They're under a lot of stress.

Sadly, we must opt for a line of X's to signal the end of scenes. I miss my line breaks. If anyone has an inkling as to why they seem to be out of favor on the site, do tell me.


	11. Kalashnikov

The hallway was dark, as Arkham always seemed to be. Their footsteps echoed up and down the empty corridor and there was not a soul in sight. She peered into the other high-profile treatment rooms they passed. All empty.

He was still smiling, the bastard. She wasn't sure what was worse, the staff's mysterious absence or him.

She felt an overwhelming urge to bite her nails. The alarm was around here somewhere, she was sure of it. She just had to run for it before he could stop her. Although trying to talk him out of this couldn't hurt.

"Where are you…?"

"Shh!" He raised his right hand and put a finger to his smiling lips. "The fields have eyes and the woods have ears."

She clenched her fists. She was quickly starting to detest that man.

"If there's someone here, they're going to catch you, quiet or not."

He turned his head to her as he walked slowly on.

"Can't hurt my chances."

She fumed silently as they walked on. They were bound to run into the guards, sooner or later. It was much too quiet for a breakout. Everything should be fine.

But she couldn't shake away her discomfort. That scream had not been a good sign.

She looked up and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. There it was. The alarm. If she could only reach it before he figured out what he was doing. Could she out-run him? She bit her lip and spared a nervous glance at him.

"Who will mourn you if something happens, Joan?"

"W-what?"

The alarm wasn't far away. She could make it, she could make it.

"Is your father healthy enough to attend your funeral? Or will it just be your sister?"

She slowed down, her breath leaving her. The alarm was now only a few steps away. She tried not to look at it, tried not to give herself away. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"Are you trying to scare me, Edward?"

He turned his head and gave her a friendly smile. It did not make her feel better.

"I have to pass the time somehow, don't I?"

She swallowed, her throat uncomfortably dry. The stillness of the asylum's labyrinthine hallways was unnerving enough on its own. They passed the alarm.

She could feel a cold sweat running down her back. He was still staring at her, waiting for an answer. A calm discussion about her death was not something she wanted to have right now.

"Who'll mourn you?" she sputtered. Not the best way to deflect the conversation.

"Well, there's you, I trust. Batman might nod his head. The Penguin might have a toast in my memory."

Her attention wasn't fully on him. Her eyes were riveted to the floor trying to avoid his gaze. She quickly forgot about that, however, as her eyes focused on something else entirely. More precisely, on a number of strange markings on the floor.

"The…penguin?"

She could see six lines, all faint. Occasionally there were ten, but the outer four only appeared sporadically.

"Yes."

The lines followed the middle of the floor, but did not go completely straight. Her brow furrowed.

"You had a penguin for a pet?"

"No. He's my friend."

She stared intently at the lines. Five lines, unmarked floor, another five lines.

"Of course, Edward. But where would you keep a penguin in Gotham?"

He was pulling her leg, but it was better than possible death threats. She followed the lines on the floor.

"In an iceberg, of course."

She peered her eyes.

"That's strange."

He hummed in agreement. She leaned down. One of the lines had turned red. Up ahead she could see even more of the dark red color. She swiped it with her finger.

"Edward?"

She ran after him.

"Edward, we need to turn back! It's not safe out here."

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Isn't that part of the allure?"

She held the finger to his face.

"There's blood on the floor! Do you see that? Those are nail marks!"

His lips curled into a smile.

"Very observative. Those are indeed nail marks. Someone was dragged along the floor. Can't say I have a theory as to why that would occur. But this is an insane asylum. Who knows what goes on around here? And who knows what could happen if you turn back?"

She felt like she'd been sucker-punched, but not from the thinly veiled threat. What touched her was that he honestly did not care, was not rattled in the slightest at the realization. She wasn't sure why, but it made her feel ill.

As they walked on, she saw where they were going. He was headed for one of the back entrances, hoping the whole of this wing was empty of guards. In between them and the exit was a patient ward, with low-threat level inmates, a surveillance room, and a few doctor's offices. One of them being her office. Her last hope of stopping him.

XXXXXXXX

They ducked back into the house. The blinding light shone through the open doorway.

"**Come out with your hands in the air! This is the GCPD! We have you surrounded!**"

She peered around at the people gathered in the house.

"This is your chance to make me proud, boys. Hold them off."

An ashen faced bum stepped up.

"I don' think we can…"

"Try. It would please me greatly."

The men calmed, the looks on their faces turning vacant.

"Yes, Ivy," they replied lifelessly.

Floyd leaned closer to her.

"Can they even shoot?" he whispered.

"I persuaded our supplier to train them. They can at least shoot, if not hit. But that's not what they're for."

One of the bums slammed the door shut as the police offered their final warning.

"I want five of you here, three at the back and two upstairs. Distract them as long as you can. Start firing when I give the signal."

They ran off to their positions. She pointed at Floyd.

"You're coming with me. The ladies go first, we follow. Any questions?"

He swallowed thickly.

"Um…can I get a gun?"

"No."

She set off and tugged him along. The monster-women followed silently.

"So the plan is to run? Over the bare ground, with no shelter, until we reach the patch of trees over there? And then run some more to the car? Real smart."

She peered out the small cracks in the barred window.

"Almost. The plan is to run over the bare ground, reach the cover of the trees, then to the car. And kill anyone who stands in our way."

She shouted at the bums and the sound of gunfire filled the air.

"Three women and one man, all unarmed. We'll look like we're running away. It should buy us some time to get closer to them," she shouted in his ear.

He nodded. Ruthless. Definitely someone to stick around with if you didn't wanna be on the losing side.

"Alright, go!"

They ran out, all putting hands on their heads and trying their best to look innocent.

There were only eight cops on this side, taking cover behind two police cars. They aimed and screamed at them to get down, but they kept running.

One of the monster girls jumped at the nearest cop, throwing her arms around him and burying her head in his chest.

"I need you to calm down and take cover, ma'am!"

The second one ran up to the other car. Floyd looked back at the first. The vines slowly stretched out of her back, two of them quickly embedding themselves in the officer's neck.

He gurgled as he fell and she moved on. The vines swung and two more fell. The cops fired and the lady tumbled soundlessly to the ground. A moment more of vines stabbing and Ivy's blowgun firing and it was over.

She crouched down by the fallen monster's side. He stood back, in case it might not be fully dead. The monster lay on its stomach, the gap in her back clearly visible. Disgusting in life, disgusting in death. His lip curled upward in a sign of distaste. If only the other one could've dropped dead too.

Ivy turned her over, closed her eyelids and crossed her arms on her chest. Floyd tapped his foot against the grass. This really wasn't the time for sappy farewells, but telling her so might not be such a great idea. He wondered why she even cared.

He snickered in his mind. Maybe if he chopped off one of the vines, pinned it to his back and pretended to be a walking vegetable he'd be a made man in this group.

He pinched himself. This was not the time to crack under the pressure.

She stood and cast him a glance before running off again. They went through the trees, over more bare ground, but no one noticed. The firefight was still going strong as they got in the car. He stomped hard on the gas.

Slowly the noise lessened as they drove further and further away.

She drummed on the window with her fingernails.

"What were the cops doing there?"

He licked his chapped lips. She turned to him, her eyes drilling into his.

"You aren't trying to back out of our arrangement, are you Floyd?"

He could feel his grip on the wheel grow slick.

"No, no, no. I wouldn't try that. I really wouldn't want, like, to explode, please?"

She didn't answer. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Maybe someone tipped 'em off to the screamin' people in the cellar? Maybe?"

She sighed.

"Maybe. Relax. You live to see another day."

She went back to drumming on the window, staring out at nothing.

"What a horrible day. Soldiers lost for absolutely nothing. A disgusting day in a disgusting city."

He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the road. His heart was still trying to escape his chest. She grabbed a cellphone from under her seat.

"Maybe destiny will make it up to us on another front. We'll see what my dirty friends have to tell us about the less evasive of our enemies."

There was a short silence as she dialed.

"Report."

Floyd could hear the indistinct buzz of someone on the other end answering.

A smile lit up her face.

"He's _where_?"

XXXXXX

The bar was mostly empty, only a few regulars dotted the room. Strange. He'd have expected more people drowning their sorrows. He supposed it didn't matter. Only helped him wallow in his misery.

The barkeep's wrinkled face entered his sight. The titular owner of Bernard's, a cozy little pub right outside the Narrows. Giovanni envied his friend at this moment. Why couldn't he be leading a calm life?

"Somethin' eatin' ya, Gio?"

He raised his empty glass and Bernard obliged.

"This city's goin' ta hell, Bernie."

Bernard smiled.

"Yeah, probably. But isn't it always?"

He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so. Still, it wasn't so bad for me back then."

The barkeep walked off to serve a new customer, a man with sunken eyes and a sombre look. Giovanni took another slow sip. Bernard returned.

"So who's treatin' ya bad?"

He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

"Pretty much everybody. Some terrorists are gunnin' for us. And every one else in this god forsaken city, it seems."

He drew a cigarette pack out of his breast pocket.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead. I got an agreement with the officials," he gestured for him to go on.

He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply.

"So we're pretty much at war wit' someone we ain't never seen. One 'a my guys seems ta be a turncoat. Sent him off to where we thought they was, only to have him wipe everyone out. I got no idea how long he's been workin' for 'em."

He raised his empty glass again for the barkeep to fill.

"So I call a specialist I know. Of course he 'as ta be completely nuts. A freak if I ever saw one."

The smoke hung heavy in the air around him.

"And now the boss wants to…well, I can't really tell ya. But it's risky. Real risky. What we get, I guess, for lettin' him take over. Just one 'a them, that's what he is. The terrorists are probably freaks too. They're everywhere, I tell ya."

He ran a hand through his graying hair.

"I feel like a dinosaur. This town is run by clowns, scarecrows and masked men now. My kind ain't got no place anymore. We're the last of the true criminal elite. Slowly dyin' out."

He took another sip and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"We was kings. An' we had a system. People didn't get slaughtered left and right, there were no random killin's. Those who got bumped off were bumped off fer a reason. Now…whole other story."

He finished the rest of his drink and slammed his glass down.

"This town's gone to shit, Bernie. And I feel like the only rat who forgot to jump ship."

XXXXXXXXX

Harley stared at the closed gate through her binoculars. The ugly thing mocked her with its mere presence. That measly little piece of junk was supposed to keep her from the smartest, handsomest, most dashing man ever? Nuh uh.

She picked up her cellphone and dialed the no-name clowns.

"Alright, we're splittin' the group in two. One half goes in with me, the other keeps people from comin' in. The mob's supposed to be keepin' an eye on this place, so expect company."

"Got it, boss."

She stifled a giggle. There was something unbearably silly about those burly brutes calling her boss.

"I want this fast and violent. Mistah J don' want no lousy exit, so you better make it impressive. This is the greatest performer in history we're talkin' about people. So look sharp."

She inspected herself in a handheld mirror to make sure she was presentable. Smiling at her satisfactory condition, she gave the order.

"Everyone ready? Then go, go, go!"

The armored vehicle sped by her and straight for the gate. She watched through her binoculars as it drew closer and she stomped down on the gas herself.

"Vroom, vroom."

She tore down the dark street, coming up behind the van as it smashed through the gate with a loud clang, the metal screeching as it hit the ground and slid toward the asylum.

The clowns poured out and shot up the entrance. Harley jumped out of her car and ran at the building. Sticking her tongue out in concentration and standing on one leg, she swung forward, the grenade going straight through the broken glass.

She jabbed her fingers into her ears but she could still hear the explosion and feel the tremors in the ground. The fire bloomed and the clowns rushed in, guns blazing. She caught her reflection in a single shard of glass that amazingly still hung in place. She put on her best action-movie expression.

"Looks like you been hit…"

She mimicked putting on a pair of sunglasses.

"…by a smooth criminal."

She hummed her own theme song as she stepped inside the building, flames still licking the room.

XXXXXXX

He grasped the wheel tightly, his gloves creaking as he clenched his fingers tighter and tighter. The growl of the Tumbler's engine filled the small space and the buildings flew past as he raced along the streets at a frightening speed.

He gnashed his teeth as he sped past the last structurally sound building before passing into the creaking neighborhoods of the Narrows. The police had gotten the distress call from Arkham only minutes after he'd set off.

**"No!"**

He punched the wheel as he noticed the sirens turning on behind him. Getting close enough to Arkham, hiding the car and then going the rest of the way on foot was already time-consuming enough. He didn't have time for this.

"**Faster, faster, faster!"**

He took a sharp turn, the squeal of tires no doubt waking everyone in the neighborhood. The officer followed suit, refusing to give up.

He threw all caution to the wind and went as fast as he could go, narrowly veering past the few cars he came across, sending one unfortunate driver skidding off the street. The cop finally disappeared from view.

The Batman veered off into a warehouse lot, the doors of the building sliding back. He jumped out of the sleek black vehicle and ran off into the night as the floor lowered, removing the car out of sight. Arkham was not far away.

XXXXXX

The apparition came closer, each step echoing dully in her brain. The house was silent, apart from him and the moaning at the bottom of the stairs.

She raised her head and looked at him. She felt numb, like she was dreaming. The nightmarish figure loomed over her and everything was still, seemingly frozen in time.

He stopped right in front of her and stood unmoving. She looked at his tattered clothing covering his chest, her eyes traveling up the black trenchcoat hanging around his frame, ending finally on the ragged face. She felt a pang in her chest as her eyes met his. Sharp blue, in direct contrast with the dull colors of his clothes.

_"The decision is yours," _his voice came, almost a whisper.

She sat unmoving, helpless.

_"Do you really care so little for your life that you're unwilling to even try?"_

She clenched her fists and bit her lip, but remained still.

"Whuh-what..."

She cleared her throat and seethed at her voice. Her last moments should at least be defiant, respectable.

"What's the use?"

Her voice only shook slightly.

"The cops can't stop you. You found me easily, so I obviously can't hide. You want me to run? Just so you can get some sick pleasure out of hunting me down? There's no way I can run past you and get somewhere safe. So what's the point?"

Her chest heaved after she finished. He kept staring into her eyes.

_"I see. You've lost hope." _

He was quiet. Nothing moved.

_"I could complete the experiment quickly and break you. But I'm curious."_

Their eyes stayed locked. The police would show up eventually. If he could just keep talking.

_"What happens if I tip the balance?"_

He removed his mask. The face before her eyes was white as snow and completely unblemished, like a porcelain doll.

"You've been relatively interesting so far."

His voice seemed changed somehow. It was no longer that strange whisper.

"So I'll grant you a fighting chance. My gift to you."

He leaned over and snatched the gas mask off her face. He stretched his hand out and closed his eyes. With a hiss, the whole room was filled with smoke. She could hear him breathing deeply, even as she coughed uncontrollably.

"What do you see?"

She raised both hands to hold her head. She felt dizzy and her heart thumped violently. She looked upon him.

His skin looked cold and hard, whiter than anything human. His mouth opened slowly.

"_Some forgotten childhood fear_?"

The jaw just hung there as he eyelids slid back. Behind them were hard eyes of marble, staring lifelessly out at the world.

She tried to get to her feet. Torrents of blood poured down the walls, bubbling and boiling, hissing as it splashed out.. She lowered her gaze to the floor, only to find herself locking eyes with her mirror image. She was decaying, rotting. The skin only clung loosely to her face.

She raised her hands to her eyes with a scream but removed them just as quickly. The flesh of her hands tore and slipped off, revealing brittle bone underneath.

_"It_'s _no use trying to ignore it. You need to deal with it. Would you like my advice?"_

The voice was a chilling whisper, piercing her ears like a knife through flesh.

_"Bask in it. Revel in it."_

Its eyes suddenly riveted on hers, a malicious glee filling the dead orbs. It pulled on a second face, dark and cruel.

_"Become it."_

Screeching laughter filled her ears and she ran, ran, ran through the liquid mirror rippling at the touch of her feet and stumbled down the endlessly stretching stairs.

_"Can you feel the rush? The primal power racing through your veins?"_

She craned her neck. He was coming after her, moving down the stairs with jerky, spidery steps, his fingers crawling along the wall as he drew closer. He chuckled, a horrible sound that made her think of a saw going through bone..

_"You're in my world now."_

She tried to ignore the hands diving up out of the steps to get at her, jumped over the lifeless doll at the bottom, passed through the creaking door, out into the empty night where sharks swam under the bottomless sea of the pavement and the endless sky howled its laughter at her as it swooped down to swallow her whole. She ran.

XXXXXXXX

The truth poured forth. Facts, fiction, faith and fantasy filled his ears as time crawled ever on. Revolt and religion, power drawn from desperation, blackest death and plagues most rare, a devout army and more, but the Hatter did not care.

On it went, with strange battles and stranger heroes, plants grown mad, a goddess in the flesh, skin a peculiar shade of green, hair red as a rose. All this surreal fare and more, but the Hatter did not care.

Continue it did, with talk of conversion, of an enemy unknown and allies too. And now finally, the Hatter did care. A blonde with the queen of may, he heard the card say. He spun around to look, his eyes growing wide as his whole body shook.

"What?"

Spit flew into the card's face.

"They have Alice?"

XXXXXX

The gunfire had finally died down. Gordon leaned against the bullet-ridden car as his officers breached the building. He still didn't really understand what was going on. Randall had confessed to murder. Said something about a strange little man who could control people. Maybe he had simply snapped. They still hadn't reached Murphy.

But that wasn't what puzzled him most. That honor went to the fact that they'd just had a vicious fight with a bunch of hobos carrying semi-automatics. And then there was that woman.

He put a cigarette in his mouth and started walking around the house. He hadn't heard much shooting from the other side, but then again, he'd been busy being shot at.

He came around the corner. The cigarette fell limply out of his mouth.

He ran for his fallen comrades, slipping in the mud-tracks where their cars had torn up the grass.

They were dead. All of them. He ran between them, checking each one for any sign of life. There was little blood. No bullet wounds. Just vicious stab wounds. And a blow-dart in Holder's neck.

His chest heaved. He felt sick. Eight officers. Eight officers lost.

His breath caught in his throat. His eyes focused. His brows furrowed. He walked closer. Leaned down.

A young woman lay on the ground, probably no more than thirty. Her eyes were closed and her arms crossed over her chest. From under her a number of green ropes spread out in various directions. They were as thick as his wrists.

He reached out shakily. His hands touched her and he raised her slowly to one side.

First, his brows furrowed harder. Then his eyes widened and his mouth opened. Finally he recoiled.

He ran a few steps away and tried to breathe.

The Commissioner vomited onto the bright green grass.

XXXXXXX

A slender hand pushed another drink in front of him. He drearily raised his head. He found himself face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"You must be Giovanni. I've heard so much about you."

Her purr left him speechless. He hadn't realized how drunk he was. He felt his heart melt as she smiled.

XXXXXX

AN: I was very tempted to follow "Would you like my advice?" with her inexplicably bursting into flames, just to complete the quote.

From the short appearance of Arkham Asylum in BB, there's nothing suggest its hallways are labyrinthine, other than the weird cellar almost nobody seems to know about. But hey, I'm a Riddler fan, I can't help myself.

This may not be the smartest move by Scarecrow, but it's a side story that needs to go somewhere, so I want to spice it up with some surrealism. Maybe I can even make it scary sometime. Besides, he needs a little excitement in his life, I'm sure. So let's just say he lost himself in the excitement.

Harley's line is modeled after the amazing Horatio Caine of CSI: Miami. The show also exists in this Batman world. Smooth Criminal is a Michael Jackson song. Of course Harley likes him. Her whole appearance here is not very serious, but she's always been very cartoony in my mind. Her childishness can often lend a certain creepiness to the things she does. In my opinion.

Kalashnikov (or Kalasnjikov) is a song by Goran Bregovic. It is amazing. So is Bubamara, but that song doesn't even remotely fit. If you've never heard of either, and feel the slightest spark of interest, youtube is your friend.


	12. Dead and Lovely

He sat completely still on the cold grass, yet another cigarette between his lips. He watched as broken people were carried from the house and carted off in ambulances, some catatonic, others screaming all the way.

He blew out a plume of smoke. The blinding white light of a dozen flashlights and the incessant flashes of the crime scene investigators' cameras illuminated the dim park. He watched as their three surviving attackers were taken away to the hospital.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He dropped his cigarette and lit another one.

He watched as a body hidden under a white sheet was taken away. Bullock trudged over to him, letting himself drop heavily next to him.

"It's the Scarecrow alright. See that one? Performed an autopsy on the poor sucker. They think his heart gave out."

They both watched in silence as the fallen officers were taken from the scene. Bullock took off his hat and held it to his chest. More men and women snatched from their families, and for what?

Gordon thought of his own family. Barbara kept begging to leave. Said it was getting too dangerous. Said this wasn't a place for the kids. He ripped a handful of grass from the ground in absent-minded frustration.

She was right. He couldn't let them stay here. But he couldn't bring himself to leave either. He couldn't abandon the city to its fate.

They watched as countless boxes were carried out of the house and into a number of police cars. Bullock pointed.

"See that? Those are all books. Handwritten. You gettin' me? We just confiscated all his stuff. All his research. Everythin' he's been doin' since he got out."

Gordon sighed. His formulas, among other things. Now they had to watch over a terrifying weapon, on top of everything.

He stiffly got to his feet.

"Let's get out of here, Harvey. I want to have a word with one of our suspects."

Bullock stood as well.

"You think the doctors will let ya?"

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Harvey. They'll speak to me no matter how much pain they're in."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The flames still crackled and the smoke still twirled as she stepped inside. She surveyed the wrecked lobby, a single dead clown and a few dead security guards littering the floor.

"I'm ba-ack," she announced to the empty room.

She ran off the hall, the sound of gunfire guiding her way. She hummed a tune as she made her way through her old workplace.

"Na na na na na na na na, ba! ba!"

She had no idea where it was from, but it was fun.

She passed a few more stiffs before finally catching up with her posse. She joined the fray with reckless abandon, cartwheeling past the shooting clowns and slamming into a guard's face with both legs.

"Are you outta yer fuckin'…!" a solitary clown screamed at her before realizing just who he was talking to. She turned her head to glare at him, wagging a finger to make sure he got the message.

"Uh, sorry. I mean…"

She ran off again, giving the clown time to finish his sentence without her hearing.

"..of course you are."

Bullets tore up the plaster as they stormed through the building, cutting down everyone in their path. The smell of gunpowder filled her senses and the shrill bangs of the guns made her ears ring. A broad smile spread over her face. It felt like a dance.

But her exhilaration was cut short by a shrill scream just around the next corner. She was plucked back down to relative reality.

She rounded the corner and saw the source. A clown was holding his gun just inches from a familiar looking face. The woman's eyes darted over to her.

"H-Harleen?"

She came to a complete stop and cocked her head.

"Ruth?"

The woman's eyes flickered between her and the gun.

"W-what are you doing?"

Suddenly, all the thoughts whirling in her head stopped. She remembered. Remembered her friends, her patients, her ambition. The people who cared for her. She remembered her ambition, her dreams. It felt like being splashed in the face with cold water. She felt like there was a reprieve in the storm, her legs heavy as lead, acting as anchors, tethering her while the seas raged all around her. She felt stuck. Normal.

"I…I…"

The clown turned around in surprise, but kept the gun in Ruth's face.

Harley shook her head. It was all wrong. She didn't want it back. She didn't want that responsibility, that doubt, that suffocating weight. She wanted to keep flying.

"..I…"

Her hands slowly moved to her face.

She didn't want to feel so heavy. She wanted to shed the chains again.

Her fingers settled in the corners of her mouth. She closed her eyes. She could hear the clown's labored breathing behind his mask, the shuddering gasps of Ruth, the chaos spreading deeper into the asylum.

The fingers pulled slowly, slowly, until her beautiful smile was back in place.

She opened her eyes and raised her head fully, beaming down at Ruth as she closed the distance between them.

"Nothin' much!"

Her foot connected with Ruth's face, knocking her head against the wall. She stared at the prone figure for a second, then snapped her fingers in the clown's face.

"C'mon!"

Harley pulled on his sleeve as she ran on down the hall.

XXXXXXXX

He is too late. Clowns fill the courtyard and the entrance has been shot to pieces. The shadowy figure assesses the situation for a fraction of a second before attacking.

He tries not to smile at the shrieks as three batarangs collide with three different heads.

They don't even manage a single shot before he is upon them, all the rage and fury of this ravaged city made flesh, given fists and feet to lash out with.

He breaks a nose, smashes his fist into a throat, knees a crotch, headbutts a chest. Throughout it all he keeps moving, a whirlwind of punishment beating them down one by one. He feels a hint of pity as they realize their situation is hopeless. He suffocates the feeling and finishes his work.

He stands still for a moment to catch his breath and make sure they're all out for the count. They writhe and squirm, but they will not be getting up until the police reach the scene.

He races inside.

XXXXXXX

The sound of gunfire reached their ears. He raised his head and stared into empty space as he listened.

"Hm," was his reaction.

This was her chance. She glanced over at her companion. The Riddler's expression was detached. He didn't seem to be paying her any mind.

She turned and ran, kicking off her heels and sprinting back down the hall.

"Where are you going, Joan?" he shouted after her.

She turned the corner, sprinting toward her office. His voice still echoed down the corridors.

"It's your funeral!"

She kept running despite her aching body's protests. She glanced back. He wasn't following.

The gunfire still rang throughout the building as she finally reached her office. She stormed in, shutting and locking the door behind her. Her chest did its best impression of a jackhammer as she leaned against the door.

She ran for the phone, raised it to her ear and slammed it back down with a frustrated groan. Of course it was dead.

In the stuffing heat of her office, Joan Leland made a decision. She pulled out a drawer and stuck her hand inside. She closed her eyes. This was the only way. She had to do it.

Just a few hallways away, the Riddler hastened his journey. If Joan managed to alert someone it would severely limit his time.

But he was distracted from his task. Someone was lying on the floor just a few feet down the next hallway. It was out of his way, but still he walked over. The scene was just too bizarre to ignore.

"Help me!"

It was a guard, lying there on the floor. He had his arms around a desk. A thick green rope around his legs. And he was slowly moving backwards, desk and all.

The Riddler walked up to him and stared at the strange scene. The guard stared up at him with wide, bulging eyes.

"Please!"

It looked more like a plant than a rope. He poked it with his shoe. The thing moved slightly in response and started pulling harder.

The Riddler looked back at the guard.

"Help me! You have to help me!"

He turned around and went back the way he came.

XXXXXXXXXX

Giovanni was sitting in the weirdest place he'd ever been. She had led him into a cave, as much like the stuff of fantasy as she was.

It was filled with life, the walls covered in greenery, plants straight from some jungle covering the ground. The sound of trickling water caressed his ears.

But his eyes were focused on her. Her green eyes, whispering to him of something unimaginable and forbidden.

Her smooth, unblemished skin that made his heart wail in yearning.

The small smile that wrenched his insides.

"I want you to tell me something."

She spoke and it was as if her voice had seeped into his frayed mind, running a soothing hand over his scrambled brain.

"I want to know everything you know."

He felt like he was being torn apart. He wanted to shout and dance and laugh. He wanted to lay down his head and slumber peacefully. He wanted to die now, so she could be the last thing he ever saw.

"Who leads the families now?"

He wanted to raise a hand to her face, to feel that impossibly smooth skin. He wanted to caress her hair, he wanted to smell it.

"Roman. His name's Roman."

She smiled again and he felt his insides twist even harder.

"That's not quite good enough."

He wanted to embrace her, but he didn't dare. She might disappear, vanish like a dream in the morning hours.

"Sionis. Roman Sionis. His family had ties wit' us, but when they died he disappeared. Then he popped up in Keystone, climbed up the ranks, was Sal's right-hand man before Sal took over here. The police don' know him. Nobody really does. He stayed in the shadows when he worked with Sal, stays in the shadows now. But he's good at what he does. Real good. Even if he's nuts."

Her smile widened.

"Thank you, Giovanni."

He shivered at the sound of his name rolling from her tongue.

"But I would know more."

XXXXXXXXXX

Her steps echo loudly on the wet pavement. Other than that, the street is chillingly quiet. The cackling has ceased. But she is not calm.

The houses have all huddled closer together, forming an impenetrable wall, closing off the street. The streetlights pour down their brightness, the lights swaying back and forth as they shake and shiver in the cold.

The pavement holds firm for now, but holes are scattered all around, revealing the bottomless depth beneath, where shadowy creatures swim under her feet.

Her skin has turned normal, her bones no longer visible to the world. But she doesn't dare touch it.

Her thundering footsteps still sound up and down the street. She can't remember where she is going. But she sure as hell does not want to stay here.

For what feels like an eternity she walks on, occasionally spinning around to make sure she is alone. She is.

But she has the distinct feeling she is being watched. That the shadows in between the lights and by the houses are constantly shifting, threatening to materialize.

It is all so dark. The houses are nothing but gray walls stretching forever on. The sky is clear, but not a single star shines down. The moon is there, but it offers little illumination.

She walks on and her unease grows. She hears more than just her footsteps. Someone is walking with her. But no matter where she turns, there is no one.

She goes on and so do the second set of footsteps.

She shivers. For just a second, her shadow moves in ways it definitely shouldn't. She stops and stares at it. The sound of footsteps lingers.

Her eyes dart upwards and she spins around. Someone is coming towards her. She can't make out the figure, but it moves slowly.

Her breath hitches.

There's something odd about the way it walks. It shuffles slowly along, occasionally jerking as it strides forward. Its head is down.

She wonders briefly whether to call out.

The darkness seems to follow in its footsteps, growing impossibly deep. She turns to run.

She only manages a few steps over the pavement before she's stopped in her tracks.

"Stop."

The voice physically hurts her, icy tendrils tearing at her eardrums. She turns around, unsure why exactly she's doing it.

It's closer now, merely a few feet away. In just a few moments it reaches her, its face still hidden from view. Its drenched in shadows that crawl up and down. The top of its head is wrinkled, too deformed to truly be human.

It raises one hand with a jerk, something about the movement reminding her of a spider. Two fingers are outstretched.

"Do you see these?"

It still doesn't look up. She shivers again at the voice.

"I'm going to scoop my eye out with them."

Its head jerks up and she falls to the ground. Its skin is all spikes and contusions and throbbing veins, the face nothing but pulsating flesh and a pair of eyes.

The hand slowly crawls up the face. She tries to back away.

The fingers stab into the socket.

Her breath hitches.

With a disgusting wet sound they retreat, pulling out a bloody orb.

"And now…"

The hand is moved out of the way, revealing the empty, dripping socket.

"..I devour you."

It leans over her and she screams as she starts falling into the bleeding hole, sinking into the abyss.

She tumbles through.

The fall seems endless. She flies on and on, traversing dark clouds and freezing winds. Below her the dark city of Gotham spreads out its inviting arms.

The wind screams with her, a chorus of voices whispering and bellowing and wailing.

She hurtles on, past cold skyscrapers, past grim gargoyles, through cracked pavement, finally splashing into the murky sewers. She struggles, tries to stick her head out of the grime. The water whispers into her ear as it starts pulling her down. She lets out a muffled scream into the lick liquid.

With a wet plop, she is expelled. She lands on a soft, warm floor. She retches, the disgusting water pouring out.

She turns around. There is no sign of the sewers. Just a pinkish wall, the word _Arkham _seemingly cut into it.

She gets to her feet. Low, rhythmic thuds reverberate off the walls. She walks forward, each step sinking slightly into the soft floor. The hallway seems to contract and expand in tune to the thuds.

She runs down the hallway, trying to ignore the strange feeling of the floor. The thuds throb in her head.

She reaches the end of the corridor. Interspersed with the thuds she can still hear the whispers. They seem to be little more than gibberish.

In front of her is a small room. Inside someone sits naked with his back turned to her, his knees crossed under him. Her eyes widen.

He turns his head slowly. There is no face. Just a featureless expanse of skin. And a rapidly growing smile. He stands up. She tries to scream, but her vocal chords have given up.

From various points on the featureless body blood spurts out. A drawn out groan comes from the gaping maw as it reaches out for her.

She turns and runs, sinking deeper into the floor with every step. The groan is getting louder behind her.

The floor gives way and starts pulling her in with a sucking sound. She cranes her head to see the featureless creature approaching, its shaking hands stretched out. She struggles against the grip of the floor. The whispering grows louder.

She closes her eyes. She can hear the thuds and the groaning, but it grows fainter as the whispering grows louder. She opens her eyes.

For just a second, the tunnel disappears. She can feel cold, hard pavement underneath her. Someone is leaning over her.

"_The thuds echo in your head. The monster is just a few steps away._"

She is back in the hallway, but the thuds are still growing weaker. She closes her eyes again before she can see the monster.

"_Slowly, from the fleshy ground, a face emerges_."

She opens her eyes. Right in front of her something slowly pushes up against the flesh of the floor. Finally it pops, revealing a face gasping for air. She closes her eyes again.

"_It is someone you know well. It is your father. You can see he is in pain._"

She opens her eyes, her father's face staring at her in anguish. She clenches her eyes shut. She breathes deeply, trying to focus on anything but the voice or the visions.

"_You watch as he sinks again, his eyes filled with terror._"

Suddenly she is removed far from both worlds. A forgotten memory or a false vision, she can't tell. But she sees a short man in outlandish clothing clutching her dress, burying his head in her chest and sobbing uncontrollably. She can feel the warm tears soak the fabric.

She opens her eyes. Again someone is leaning over her. She can't make out his face.

For a second, the fleshy hallway flashes before her eyes. She screams and her hands dart out, grabbing something.

She sees the street and the man leaning over her again, but this time she has her hands around his head. She ignores the rough feel of his skin and pulls down.

"_What the hell are you…?_"

He lets out a grunt as he falls to his knees. She pulls harder, cradling his head in her arms.

"_Let go! Stop it, you filthy..!_"

She clutches his head against her chest, muffling him. She shakes violently but doesn't let go. She has no idea what she's doing, but she follows the vision's advice.

"T-t-there, there," she whispers, "It's gonna be alright, I p-promise."

He starts to shake as he continues to struggle.

"It's okay, I'm here. J-j-just l-let it a-all out."

"_No!_"

He finally breaks free, scrambling to his feet. She sits still, too confused to move.

"_I killed you! You have absolutely no power over me! None!_"

They're both trembling violently. She feels ready to pass out. He keeps screaming at her.

"_I've faced you time and again! You can't touch me!_"

He stumbles a few steps. She flinches as he rips off his face. They both throw up on the wet pavement.

She sees him shakily walk away. Her head drops to the ground with a dull thud, pain flaring in her skull. The last thing she hears before passing out is hesitating footsteps growing fainter.

XXXXXXXX

Gordon stared at the audio tape on his desk. He hadn't gotten much. The little the suspects had revealed made it sound like they were part of a cult. They weren't scared of him. Their faith in, or fear of whoever they were working for was too strong.

Whatever the reason, he had almost nothing to go on. He glanced at his watch. Three in the morning. Barbara was probably worrying herself to death by now. He reached for his phone.

A lab technician barged into his office. Gordon lowered his hand.

"Uh, sorry for barging in, sir. But we've finished the autopsy on the, uh…"

"Yes?"

He dumped the report on the commissioner's desk.

"It seems like it…Well, it's a plant. We're sure of that. And, erm, it seems to have grown from the chest of the victim."

Gordon rested his head on his fists.

"And what sort of plant is this?"

The other man cleared his throat.

"Nothing we've ever heard of, sir. We have no idea how it could have grown so quickly or even how it, uh, moves. But it's carnivorous. And the legs of the victim seem to have been digested once the plant grew around them."

He wiped sweat off his forehead.

"But it gets weirder. The plant also grows up into the brain. Much of it is damaged, but not all. And the plant seems to have grown a…a…a primitive brain of its own inside the victim's skull."

Gordon leaned back in his chair.

"What?"

The man swallowed.

"And it looks like the plant somehow kept what was left of the body alive and…well, hijacked it. The victim's body and the plant were merged into one creature. We don't know why, and we're not even sure _if_, but it might just be that...well, that the plant uses parts of the victim's brain."

XXXXXXXX

He had waited and waited and waited. He'd whispered a hint to Time but the clock had not gone round. Perhaps he was too busy.

Despite this setback, the Hatter's resolve was strong. Nothing could keep him. He sighed.

If he could only see her again. That heavenly ray of light in the darkness.

He would wade through hellfire, battle monsters fierce and feral, put his own head in the axe's path. If only, if only, if only he could see her one more time.

He stuck a hand out the window of the rusty old van. A solitary drop stained his glove. Then it started pouring in earnest.

He smiled. If there was one thing he loved more than anything, it was the fresh smell of rain in the summer. His eyes gazed at the clouds for but a moment, snapping quickly back to their vigilant watch.

He had watched as they entered the park. He had seen the filthy mobster enter with the woman.

He supposed he could storm after them, with glowing eyes and gleaming pride, but it didn't feel right.

Storming into a park wasn't a very appealing prospect either, no matter from which angle you viewed it.

Then all of a sudden, there was a change in the dreadful and droll scenery. The filthy mobster staggered away, entered a car and disappeared.

Inside the Mad Hatter's head, the cogs all clicked. If Alice wasn't here, it was because the traitorous mob had her.

He seethed as he gripped the steering wheel. He would save her and make them all sorry. Oh, yes, he would.

XXXXXXXX

She enters his sanctuary. A whole hallway dedicated to him and him alone. Three locked doors, opened with the late Doctor Gambridge's card, two dead guards, removed with the help of her twin Uzis, Mr. Blasty and St. Nicholas. All that remains is the bulletproof glass separating him from everyone. She beams at him, even though he sits with his back turned to her.

"Guess who!"

He gets to his feet and moves to the glass. His face does not reflect the happiness of the moment.

"Where have you been?"

She recoils as if stung.

"Wha… Workin' on breakin' ya out, puddin'. That's where I've been."

He flashes her a menacing smile.

"Well isn't that just _dandy_."

His face distorts with rage and his hands slam against the glass.

"_While you've been "woikin'" on that, some moron has started destroying my stage! They're all out there, cowering and sniveling in fear! AND IT'S NOT BECAUSE OF ME_!"

She backs another step and grimaces.

"_While you're wasting your time, this worthless, talentless, miserable excuse for a criminal steals all the attention. Nobody remembers dear old Unca J anymore_."

He takes a break, breathes in deeply.

"_They've forgotten, Harley_. _They've forgotten _me_. _**ME! It**'**s** **the ultimate insult! Do they think they can get away with this?"**

He stops again, his chest heaving.**  
**

_"It's time to _**make**_ them remember." _His eyes burn into hers._ "Now open this door. Open it or I'll use you as the first reminder to my dear city."_

She clenches her fists and her whole body shakes.

"I come for you an' this is how you repay me?"

He doesn't say anything. Just stares into her eyes. She takes another step forward, too angry to be afraid.

"And she ain't a pretender, Mister J, an' she ain't a moron."

He smiles again, but his eyes scream murder.

"_You…know this person?_"

She backs off again, swallowing audibly.

"_Let me out, Harley. You know I'll get out anyway, sooner or later. Let me out."_

She freezes like a deer in headlights. His bloodshot eyes bore into hers . She crosses her hands on her chest with a defiant huff.

"No."

He breathes heavily, his breath fogging up the glass.

"I'm not lettin' ya out till ya say you're sorry, Mistah J."

He chuckles. She tries her best to look unfazed.

"_Look behind you, _pooh_._"

"Nope, not until ya say…wait, what? No!"

She spins around but it is too late. The large hand smashes her head into the glass.

The Joker smiles as she slides limply down to the floor.

"_Heheh. Have to say, I admire your style._"

The Batman doesn't answer. He picks the limp woman up and turns around.

"_Truckloads of mindless violence flooding your city, Bats. Have you noticed? You can_'_t do anything about it. There_'_s no going back now. It will only get worse. And in every bleeding wound, every lifeless corpse...you see me... smiling up at you._"

He ignores the clown.

"_Well! Th-Th-Th-that_'_s all folks_."

His laughter echoes through the corridor as the Batman runs out with her in his arms. Even through all the doors he slams shut behind him, the laughter follows.

He handcuffs her and leaves her with the rest of the clowns.

The cops will be coming soon. He knows he should leave. But something nags at the back of his mind. There were plenty of casualties, but there were supposed to be a lot more guards at the asylum.

He runs down corridor after corridor and his unease grows. The patients are in their cells, but they all look terrified. And there is not a guard in sight.

He runs further and further into the building. The quiet is disconcerting. But it isn't complete. He strains to hear it, but he's sure he can hear someone whimpering. He runs toward the noise.

There, on the floor, lies a guard. The Batman steps closer. The man is sliding slowly along the floor, a thick rope around his feet. He runs over and cuts through the thick cord with the spikes on his wrist. Copious amounts of green goo flow onto his boots. He scowls slightly.

"Th-thanks, man. You're not gonna, uh, do anything to me, right?"

The cowled head turns, cold, blue eyes locking on the guard. He turns white as a sheet. The Batman runs on, following the thick, green tendril as it starts to retreat.

XXXXXXXXX

AN: An unhealthy amount of hallways and corridors in this chapter. My apologies.

Seeing how this is the chapter in which Harley gracefully bows out of the story, Dead and Lovely is the title. It's a Tom Waits song that I think kinda suits her. Hope I managed to give her a tiny amount of depth in this story. And that tune she's humming is the 60's Batman theme.

How exactly does a plant hijack a body, brain and all, you ask? Err...Mumbo jumbo, that's how. I'm not even going to try to explain the Hatter's hats.

I can't write Ledjoker. So here's comics Joker instead. Even if I'm not completely happy with my portrayal of him either. But it's just a cameo. No harm done.

Having Scarecrow defeated by a hug is not an original idea, but it struck me as funny. The reason she can pull him down so easily is because he's tripping too, even if he can still focus on her misery. And he's not the biggest, strongest guy to begin with. Emily's vision shows what Hatter did while she was under his control. Yes, he's a sad, lonely man.

The parts with the guard getting dragged along the floor are pretty clunky. I could probably have skipped the first scene with him, but I promised a mean Riddler, and by the rivers of Babylon, I shall deliver. At least I managed to show Batman's fury at having his shoes destroyed. Stupid goo, ruining his Armani boots.


	13. Je bois

A woman appeared in a warehouse by the docks. She shared a few words with a group of shady men. That is all.

* * *

He staggered away from the former inhabitant of the house, his hands guiding him along the walls. His victim had an exquisite look of terror, the one people wore when they disappeared into themselves. But Jonathan Crane could not savor it. He was still shaken. He thought he'd purged himself of his fear. He'd experimented on himself a dozen times and his immunity to the toxin grew with every try. He'd seen her time and again, and he had been unmoved. He had laughed in her scowling face, let her claws rake over him without flinching. But now…she had come back in all her horrifying glory.

He pushed open the door to the bathroom, a wretched room that made the Gotham sewers seem clean. He threw the mask down, put his hands under the faucet and splashed his face with the lukewarm, brown water. The toxin was still affecting him, the air heavy with her presence, that disgusting smell of stale perfume.

He raised his head and stared into the cracked mirror. Before his eyes his own reflection flickered, sneering and scowling at him, berating him in a thousand parched voices. She was inside him now. Her claws would never let go.

He retched and heaved into the sink, the contents of his stomach seemingly cleansing the disgusting utility. He turned the faucet and watched it swirl down. He looked back up.

It was true. He was everything she said and more. A failure. A pathetic excuse for a man. The dream had been so close, he had but to reach out and grasp it. But he had failed. And there she stood in the mirror, her cold voice ripping into him as he shivered.

A failure.

He gnashed his teeth as she disappeared again, the voice echoing from inside his head. He clenched his fists, the nails digging into his flesh. He growled at the melting mirror, his chest heaving.

Then something strange happened. His reflection slowly faded and something else appeared. He was watching from high up in the sky, looking down at a tree, mist covering the ground from his eyes.

A man hung from the tree, a noose around his neck. He looked vaguely familiar. There was an obscenely long, pointy hat on his head, blacker than the night itself. Hair of a sickly color stuck out from underneath, his clothing was dark and tattered.

The winds blew stronger and the mist curled away from the man. A wicked spear was lodged in his chest.

Jonathan breathed shakily, fogging up the glass and the vision.

"Who are you?" he whispered to the mirror.

The man raised his head, his face hidden behind an emotionless wooden mask. Shadows seemed to flit around and through the very material.

_"Who… am… I? A sacrifice. From myself…to myself."_

A shiver went up his spine. The voice was beautiful. Hollow, inhuman, the long hidden voice of an inanimate object.

_"Here I have hung for nine long days and nine long nights."_

Jonathan knew who this was. The answer was there, hiding somewhere in the murky recesses of his memories.

_"A sacrifice. Myself to myself."_

He could feel the room growing cold as he stared harder into the other world, the mist and the wind slowly seeping over.

_"Here I hang, on that windy tree of which no man knows, from which all roots run."_

As he watched, he felt the cold spreading inwards, flowing through his veins, cleansing him. Her voice slowly faded to nothing.

_"Downwards I gazed. I took the answers, screaming I took them." _

The hanged man raised his head and Jonathan stared into his eyes. They were cold, unfeeling, a pair of fragments chipped off a glacier and made to see. They were his own.

_"And now…"_

The hanged man soared upwards, tearing loose and flying limply through the air, a boneless body jerking wildly as it flew, only the masked face unmoving as it stared up at him. The screaming of the wind filled the room as he left the mirror. From inside Jonathan's head, the voice finished.

_"I return."_

Smiling, the Scarecrow's head raised upwards, the wind howling louder and louder in the small room as the shadows wrapped around him, infusing themselves with him.

* * *

The woman appeared in the back of a bar. She lent a helping hand in making a drink. That is all.

* * *

He stared at his reflection. Looking back at him was an old man with bags under his eyes and pallid skin. He sighed.

"You look like a fucking junkie, Gio," he told his mirror self.

He slicked back the tousled gray hair on his head.

"That ain't how great men should look."

He wiped the sweat from his brow.

Satisfied with his appearance, he removed the mirror from the wall, taking it along with him and propping it up against the chair opposite his desk. He sat down in his own seat and smiled at his mirror image. He opened a drawer and pullet out a bottle of rum.

The reflection stared at the slowly filling glass in his hand with pleased eyes. They both gave a slight smile.

He raised his head and listened. He'd sent most of his bodyguards away, telling the few who remained to stay by the entrances to the mansion. He needed to be alone for this.

The room was quiet as a tomb. He fixed his tie and cleared his throat. This was it.

He raised the glass, smelled it and smiled. He held it out to the room.

"To Carmine! Whose reign we all miss."

He downed the shot and filled the glass again. He raised it to the mirror.

"To you! Ya wily old crook."

He downed it. Filled it. Raised it high up.

"To God! If ya really exist, ya old rascal."

He downed it and licked his lips. Filled it, picked a picture up off the desk, put it to his lips.

"To my wife! Whom I failed."

The glass went up, the rum burned its way down his throat. He slammed the glass down on the desk and tenderly put the picture back. He refilled the glass.

"To you, mamma. Bless your memory."

He downed it, filled it and raised it. His head slumped for a second and he swallowed thickly. He raised his head again.

"To my stillborn son."

He downed it, slammed it, filled it, raised it.

"To all the boys I've buried!"

He downed it, wiped his eye. Filled it. Raised it. Took a look around the dark room, admired the looming darkness that seemed to grow with every shot he took.

"To all the pals I've betrayed."

Down and up it went. Alcohol sloshed onto the desk. He licked his lips.

"To all the mothers I've left crying."

Slam onto the desk. Slosh into the glass.

"To dead dreams!"

Slam. Slosh. Lips quivering.

"To all the beautiful hookers of this world!"

Slam. Slosh. He cleared his throat, raised the glass.

"To my killer! Who I love more than life itself. To whom I am nothing."

Down. He paused to catch his breath. Poured another. Up. Mirthless chuckle.

"To Batman! Ya son of a bitch."

Down. Up. Glint in his eyes.

"To you, Gotham! Ya doomed, rotten jewel."

The glass slowly went down. He stood, took off his jacket, breathed. Pulled open a drawer. Poured another glass. Raised it to his lips and a pistol to his temple. Closed his eyes and pressed the gun harder to his head.

"To the bullet! To the death of the gangster!"

Downed it. Threw the glass at the mirror. Watched the shards scatter to the floor.

Pulled the trigger.

* * *

The woman appeared in the men's restroom at a fancy restaurant downtown. A man entered. She smiled at him. That is all.

* * *

Jimmy Dunne's eyes slowly opened. His head throbbed painfully. He shivered slightly. And something was biting into his wrists.

With a jerk, he regained full consciousness. His blood ran cold.

He could move neither hand nor foot, his arms fastened to the ceiling, the cuffs on his wrists digging into flesh. A cold, clammy sweat covered his skin.

He shuddered as he looked around the room. It was bright, harsh lights beaming down on the sterile environment. The walls were white, except for a few mysterious splatters scattered here and there. A number of metal boxes were sitting in the corner. There was a chair not far from him, a suit jacket draped over the back.

Right in front of his eyes was the owner. He wore a white shirt with suspenders and black pants. The back of his head wasn't visible, it was covered by some sort of mask. He was busying himself with a black bag on the table in front of him.

Jimmy swallowed thickly. He knew what was going to happen.

"I know what you're thinking," the masked man began.

He didn't turn around as he spoke.

"You're thinking: This is the end. And you're right."

Jimmy exhaled, his breath shuddering.

"And yes, it will be painful."

The man picked a knife out of the bag and laid it on the table.

"You can try to keep from screaming, try to be tough, I don't mind. But if it gets too much, I won't think any lesser of you for letting loose. I already think of you as nothing."

Pliers appeared from the bag and were laid beside the knife.

"You are a message. To show your friends what will become of them."

A drill left the bag and was lined up with the other tools.

"There may be others who know more about fear, who have dedicated their lives to it even, but I am no amateur."

A small plastic bag with nails was pulled out, followed by a hammer.

"But my specialty is pain. Nothing saps a man's will like seeing someone he knows with a thousand grisly marks on him. They see you and they can't help but notice every little scratch, imagine every little horror you endured."

A saw emerged from the bag.

"You will show them what they are up against."

A cattle prod rose from the container.

"Everyone will know that I'm serious. No theatrics, no clowns, no stupid riddles. Just death. Death and pain."

He pointed to the small metal boxes in the corner.

"Those will be your final resting place. Delivered to your various friends."

He turned around and walked up to Jimmy. The mask was pitch black, resembling a skull. Red eyes peered out from the slits of the skull's eyes.

"Heheh. I t-thought you said no theatrics. You look ridiculous, mate."

The man stared at him.

"Insulting me is unwise, _mate_. You have the lives of other people to worry about. You have a family. A mother, a sister."

He chuckled, the rumbling sound echoing slightly in the empty room.

"Convinced? Smart man."

The sweat kept pouring off of Jimmy's forehead.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man stepped closer.

"To you, I am death."

He turned around and started rummaging through the bag again.

"That's what masks are for."

He picked the knife up from the table and turned around.

"To become someone else, something more. This mask is who I am now. Without it…"

He removed the mask. Underneath was an ordinarily looking man, apart from the red eyes.

"…I am a man. A man who had a life. Twenty years of uneventful normalcy. I was nothing. But now…"

He put the mask back on. It almost seemed like the mask was smiling. The man moved closer, the knife gleaming in the harsh light.

"I am Black Mask. Another's death marked my birth, my mask carved from his coffin. My name means death, fear and suffering. I am the face of the city."

* * *

A woman appeared in the bedroom of a mansion. She planted a kiss on a sleeping man's cheek. That is all.

* * *

The heavy oak door of Elsep's office loomed before him. Judging from what he had seen, the Batman was about to face something straight from a nightmare.

He pushed the door open.

By the desk was Dr. Elsep, his dull eyes staring at the intruder. His body was enjoined with a green mass, above him a gaping maw. The office was filled with more slithering vines.

Batman stepped inside.

The vines started, crawling slowly towards him. He raised a trio of batarangs and let loose, cutting three vines in half. The rest kept coming, picking up speed.

The Batman took a step back and raised more batarangs. He threw another and another, but each throw produced less results. The vines coming at him now were thicker, too thick for his weapons to cut through them in one blow.

He ran from the door, the vines following. A few went on and closed the door, curling themselves around the doorknob.

One caught the end of his cape, trapping it in a vice-like grip. He slashed away with his wrist blades, freeing himself just as another caught hold of his left leg.

He tore free before the others could get at him, but not without a sacrifice. His boot was torn off his foot as he sprung free, the Batman reduced to an uneven gait with just one shoe.

He couldn't waste any more time. He jumped on top of the desk, stabbing a batarang deep into the green mass the doctor was emerged in. He felt the doctor's hands clasp around him.

"**Easy, I'll get you out."**

He sliced through the moist mass, sawing frantically, trying to get the man out. A squelching sound filled the room as he kept cutting and cutting, sticky liquid spurting in great volumes onto the dark knight.

Hopeful that he had cut through enough of the surrounding tissue that he could get the man out, the Batman began to pull, even as the thick tendrils crawled up his legs.

He gave a mighty heave and with a ripping sound they both fell back onto the floor.

Batman's eyes grew wide as the vines slowly started to envelop them. He was holding a dead man's torso, the formerly dull eyes now completely devoid of life. He disappeared under a writhing mass of life.

He punched a hand through the gaps between the vines, trying to ignore the pain flaring in his other arm as the vines squeezed. He pulled the trigger and was forcefully dragged out of the heap and up to the ceiling, his cape tearing off completely and a glove getting left behind as he blasted upwards.

He let go of the grapple and fell to the floor just a few feet away from the monstrosities. They began branching out, feeling for him along the floor. His eyes flickered between the corpse of Dr. Elsep and the creature by the desk as recognition hit him. He had not killed the man. He was already dead, somehow kept alive by the plant.

He wasted no time, but ran to the gaping maw of the gigantic plant and threw a bat-explosive down the hungry mouth.

He turned and ran, slashed through the vines barring the door and ran down the hall, a loud explosion making the floor shake.

The slimy knight made his lumbering way down the corridor, limping slightly from both bruises and a shortage of boots.

* * *

The seething rage of the Mad Hatter bubbled like melting sealing wax as he stared at the looming mansion of the filthy, traitorous gangster.

Refusing to give in to temptation, Hatter decided to forgo his manners and skipped ringing the doorbell. Instead he turned around, his shoes soaking up blood off the ground.

His servants made their way to the door at his command, stepping over the corpses of two unfortunate bodyguards to ram through the door.

After try upon try, the door finally gave way. The Mad Hatter stepped through.

Once inside they were not met by a great force. There was no one, in fact.

Puzzled, but not displeased, the Mad Hatter ventured onwards, his men in tow.

After room after room of empty, they finally reached a place that oozed foreboding. He pushed the door open with a wide smile on his face, striding into the room with all the purpose of a great hero of old.

But his good mood evaporated quickly.

There sat the rat, broken glass and blood beautifying the floor. His head was a mess. Thinking too hard was always a danger, even for imbeciles, this the Hatter knew.

He leaned closer to inspect the man, his gloved fingers drumming on the desk separating them.

"I'm late, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late."

He checked his watch as he turned around.

"I'm late, I'm late. Best leave."

They walked back the way they came, Hatter thinking hard.

"bUt NOt tOO hArd!" he told the room.

His righteous anger would just have to grow and wait until some other idea broke into his head. Yes, he'd have to trust his luck.

Hatters did not plan, after all. They went mad.

* * *

The fresh air caressed the Riddler's face as he walked further and further away from the exit. The familiar stench of the city filled his nostrils, coaxing out a smile.

"Home, sweet home," he muttered to himself as he trudged over the grass lane separating him from the parking lot. The doctors no doubt thought a patch of green grass might prove relaxing. They were absolutely right. To be met with more dull gray after his disturbingly easy escape would probably have driven him mad.

The alluring forest of potential getaway cars drew closer with every step. He was mere seconds away.

He stopped and threw out his hands, announcing his presence to the air and his wonderful little city.

"I'm back! And I'll never leave you again."

His declaration was interrupted by a shout coming from far behind him. He slowly turned around to see Joan by the exit, a gun in her hand.

"Edward! Stop or I'll shoot!"

He scratched his head and muttered to himself.

"Since when do you even own a gun?"

It didn't matter. He'd had cops shoot at him from a shorter distance without hitting.

He turned and ran, a smile tugging at his lips.

A crack filled the air, followed by a shrill scream.

* * *

Emily raised her throbbing head, rubbing at her eyes. She was lying on the street, not far from the curb. No-one was in sight, the sun shining brightly down on the empty road. She moaned as she raised herself into a sitting position. Her clothes were even filthier than her asphalt bed.

Her eyes wandered over to a spot of vomit not far from her and she curled her lip. Then her eyes flew wide open, as it all came back to her. The policemen, the chase, the nightmare, everything. And the hug.

The sun beamed at her face and she made a strange sound, something between a cough and a sneeze.

Then it broke loose and she laughed freely to the summer sky.

Her whole body rippled with numb, comforting pain.

It didn't make any sense, but she knew what she wanted to do.

She laughed harder, the notion that she'd hugged the Scarecrow proving too much.

She'd hugged her tormentor, the one she had wanted to kill for days now. And it had stopped him. The man was hopelessly insane. She'd seen his file, and now she believed everything. He really was broken.

It didn't make any sense, she knew that. But she was going to save him from himself. He needed help. And she was going to make sure he got it. She would bring him back to Arkham, no matter what she had to endure.

* * *

Gordon traced a finger along his plastic cup, looking down at the cold coffee with displeasure. He let go with a sigh, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. He squirmed in his clothes, aware of the stench of sweat and cigarettes that hung heavy on him.

But the man on the other side of the table was even worse off. He looked cracked, as if his personality had broken in two, the wedge of guilt and fear driven between the two parts that made up officer Randall.

His eyes were red and his hands shook and he had bitten his nails and he had scratched at his neck long enough for it to need bandages. He couldn't look into anyone's eyes for longer than a few seconds. He was nothing but a shadow of himself.

They didn't even know if he actually had done anything wrong. Only his own confession incriminated him. But the events had the park indicated there was at least some truth in his story, unless it had all been an unbelievable coincidence.

"There was no short man in blue there, Randall."

He looked up but almost immediately lowered his gaze without responding.

"There was someone else, however. A grouped of former hobos, armed to the teeth. And two women and a man who got away. One of the women died. And something had been…done to her. We don't even know how she stayed alive that way."

Randall put his hands in front of his eyes, head bowed down.

"When you were there, did you see…any sort of…surgery, I guess it would look like.

He raised his head, his hopeless eyes staring up at the Commissioner.

"No, sir."

Gordon sighed.

"But, sir, you have to find Murphy. And take off his hat. It's all in the hats, sir, I swear it, sir, I swear it! It's the hats!"

He quieted down and Gordon cleared his throat.

"We know, Randall. We're trying to figure out what it is."

He stood and gave the other man a reassuring smile as he opened the door.

"Don't worry. We'll sort this all out. And we'll find Murphy."

The door to the interrogation room clicked shut behind him and Gordon wiped at his brow. He would find no peace, however. A rookie briskly walked up to him, a worried look on his face.

"Sir? We've got a situation."

They started walking down the corridor, towards Gordon's office.

"What now?"

The rookie swallowed, licked his lips nervously.

"Reports from all over the city of gunfire. Dozens of casualties, all known criminals from the Italian and the Irish mobs. It looks like the beginning of a gang war."

Gordon could feel a headache starting as he clenched his fists.

"Now of all times," he looked at the rookie's face and quickly added: "Please tell me that's all."

The rookie licked his lips again.

"Uh, not quite, sir. Bullock actually found a, um, severed hand fastened to the door of his car."

Gordon's eyes bulged. He could feel his blood boiling.

"What's wrong with them?" he shouted at no one in particular, "What the hell's happened to this city?"

* * *

Mr. Pallottola lies in a pool of blood on the dusty floor of a warehouse by the docks, a group of his shady men lying scattered around him with countless bullet holes. There is a tattoo on one traitor's arm, all but the words "This we'll defend" obscured.

Mr. Bicchierino sits prone in his seat at the bar, his face lying against the sticky surface of the table. In the back, the bartender's blood swirls lazily down a drain.

Mr. Pulito sits by the sinks in the restaurant's men's room with a knife in his gut. The light of the electric watch on his wrist slowly flickers, then dies.

Mr. Sogno hangs from a noose of bedsheets, moving slowly in the wind from the open window. There is a letter on his nightstand, marked by red lipstick. Underneath it lies the Gotham Post, none of the paper visible apart from the pondering headline: "_Quarantine_?"

* * *

AN: Couldn't think of any credible Italian-sounding names, so I decided to get cute.

Don't really know what the second most powerful mob in Gotham should be, so I went with another I word.

Black Mask doesn't actually have red eyes, they're lenses. Because even dirty bastards like feeling pretty.

Almost no Ivy today. At least she managed to kill some people, even if she got about 8 lines.

I'm disappointed in this chapter, but after days of annoyance at its refusal to work like I want it to, I've given up on it. It will just have to do. Batman's scene didn't turn out squicky at all, but such is life.

Much respect if you can see what Scarecrow's mirror vision is imitating.

Thanks to a very wonderful person, I have now regained my precious line breaks, as I'm sure you've noticed and exclaimed loudly in glee over.

Je bois is a song with Charles Aznavour.


	14. Here Comes the Night

_"Following the Commissioner's bizarre statement was even worse news: Authorities have withdrawn their earlier comments, claiming that the outbreak…"_

"Turn that off."

A bodyguard shifted over to the radio and did as ordered, turning off the morning news broadcast.

"Tell me of your exploits, Mr. Vivo."

A slim man with slicked black hair looked across the desk at his boss.

"Well, sir, it was jus' like you said. We lost a few, sure, but nothing like they did. We dealt 'em a big blow, even if they ain't done for yet."

The boss leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie. The heat of summer was suffocating.

"Good, that's good. But I assume you've heard what else happened last night."

Vivo nodded.

"Yeah, I heard."

One of the bodyguards peered out the blinds, allowing a sliver of sunlight to enter the room.

"Five of my capos died last night. Looks like Giovanni himself decided to paint his walls with his brains, but the rest of 'em were all offed. The first at one of our smuggling operations, another in the bathroom of a restaurant downtown, next at a bar and another in his fucking bed. Nobody saw nothing. And now we look more incompetent than the police."

He nodded again.

"And this fucking bitch has the gall to leave me a fucking note. She's making us look weak and she's laughing at us."

"She, boss?"

The boss slid the letter over the desk.

"Unless there's some guy I don't know about who signs his death-threats with a kiss."

Vivo stared at the paper. Just one handwritten line followed by a mark in lipstick.

"Well, maybe…"

"Don't tell me. I refuse to believe it."

He stared at his boss uncomfortably. He never liked it when his conversations with the boss veered out of the simple mold of receiving orders. He really did not want the only don in Gotham who personally took care of dirty work to think of him as a friend.

"If the next words out of your mouth will in any way imply Mickey Mulligan or some other idiot signs his death-threats with a kiss I will need to kill something."

Vivo kept staring at his boss but the discomfort lessened somewhat.

"No, boss, I was thinkin' of the Joker."

The boss exhaled audibly.

"Right. But no, not him. No clowns and no media coverage mean this definitely isn't him. He's been in Arkham this whole time, anyway."

He coughed into his hand.

"Right, boss, of course. Do we have any idea who this is, then?"

The red eyes bored into his.

"No, but Giovanni was working at it. Had a contact, he said. Someone very dangerous. I'm going to set up a meeting. I want you take care of things for now. No attacks, finishing the Irish will have to wait. Just keep an eye on things and be ready for whatever they can think of throwing at us."

Vivo stood quickly, grabbing his fedora.

"On it, boss. I'll go get my crew."

The boss waved a hand in dismissal and he marched out.

* * *

She walked slowly towards the prone figure, the gun still in her hand, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the hideous thing.

He took in a shuddering breath and focused his wide eyes on her as she stopped a couple of feet away from him.

"You fucking bitch! You s-shot me!"

Her eyes traveled to the shattered flesh of his left leg, noting the pooling blood with displeasure. After all these years at Arkham she no longer felt queasy at the sight of it. Now she merely felt sad.

"You… magnificent… fucking… bitch!" He breathed in sharply through his teeth. "This isn't possible! Since when do you even own a gun, you miserable excuse for a human being?"

She ran a hand through her hair and exhaled slowly.

"I'm sorry, Edward."

He stopped his tirade and extended a shaking hand halfway to his bleeding leg, his eyes twitching at the sight of it. He let out a growling scream, more in the direction of the sky than her. She felt sorry for him, somewhere deep inside. But she was too numb to say anything.

"I know where you live! Our friendship is over!"

He let out a nervous cackle. It reminded her of a patient she'd had once. He'd shot himself a few days after he was discharged. One of her many failures.

"And a million more hollow threats," the Riddler's voice broke her out of her reverie.

A strange sound behind her prompted her to turn around slowly. The sight was absurd, but not alarming, her brain decided. The Riddler seemed not to notice.

"W-will you get me an ambulance or, or are you just going to stand there and let me bleed out, you moron?"

She turned around again. He was right, he was turning rather pale.

"Yes," she spoke hazily.

The Batman materialized at her side in an uncharacteristically loud way. He was covered in green goo and seemed to have lost both a glove and a boot. His slow movements suggested either arthritis or just a bad day. A gloved hand rested on her shoulder, bringing a glob of slime with it. She couldn't muster the strength to curl her lip.

"**You did the right thing.**"

The Riddler's head slumped to the ground.

"This is so humiliating."

The Batman removed his hand from her shoulder.

"**There are ambulances by the front entrance. You can pass safely through the asylum. But don't go into the warden's office.**"

He hobbled off into the sunrise. Joan went for help. Riddler groaned.

* * *

Gordon listened to the news with one ear, most of his attention riveted on the many reports in front of him.

"_The Black Death has not been brought under control and is thought be spreading rapidly. Citizens are advised to stay indoors or use respirators when outdoors. Sanitation and…"_

A plague, unnatural monsters, gang warfare, fear toxin, possible mind control, what next? Riddles, jokes and ninjas and the package would be complete.

His gloom was interrupted by the arrival of a burly detective in his office. It was Bullock, looking even less hygienic than usual.

"What do you make of it, Bullock? The media's reception of my statement?"

Bullock scratched his chin and grimaced.

"Seemed to take it pretty well, considerin'. But they probably think we've all gone nutso. An' I can't blame 'em. Still, we had to warn people, right?"

Gordon nodded and coldly regarded his even colder coffee.

"But what did you want to see me about?"

Bullock cleared his throat.

"Bad news, Commish."

The commissioner looked up from his coffee.

"Of course. Go on."

"It's the Scarecrow witness. All our guys were incapacitated. No sign of the witness anywhere."

He sighed.

"Have a small team comb through the crime scene. Sad as it is, we have to focus our attention elsewhere. The gangs are acting up and this latest development suggests they won't quiet down even if we start to pressure them. You were the one who found the…hand… weren't you?"

"Yeah, sir. I'm all right. We don't know who it belongs to, though. The fingertips were all sawed off. My guess is it's one of the Irish. It looks like it's them, the Russians and the Italians that are dukin' it out."

The commissioner turned off the radio and turned his full attention to the detective.

"Alright. Bullock, I'm putting you in charge of the gang situation. A third of my officers are at your disposal. Try to keep them from tearing the city and each other apart. Don't hesitate calling for assistance if things get hairy."

"On it, Commish. We'll beef up surveillance of known activities. Make some arrests, get at least some of these clowns off the streets. I'll go see one of my contacts on the west side, see if he knows what the Irish are up to."

Gordon clasped his hands in front of him.

"Tell Montoya to come see me."

Bullock left and a short while later the Latin-American detective entered the office and sat down opposite him.

"I'm putting you in charge of the Murphy case, Renee. I'll personally handle the park case. We will split a third of my officers between us, leaving plenty to stay here in case the Scarecrow tries to take back his research. Any questions?"

Montoya shook her head no.

"I'll just need a quick look at the file. I can check his apartment again, speak to relatives, maybe talk to Randall, make him give us a description of the short man."

Gordon handed her his report on the case.

"This is a strange one, so keep your mind open. See what the lab boys say about that hat."

She gave him a bewildered look.

"Hat, sir?"

He felt patently ridiculous, but he had to follow his gut.

"I know how it sounds, but trust me. It may be that Randall lost his mind and scrambled that weird thing together, but if the last few days have taught me anything it's that nothing is impossible right now."

Montoya nodded her head hesitatingly.

"Very well, sir. I'll try to think outside the box. What will you do?"

Gordon stood and retrieved his coat.

"I'll get out of this damn office, for one. Then I'll try speaking with the attackers from the park again. Inspect their weapons, see if I can gather who supplied them. Then I'll speak to some academics, get a second opinion on those…creatures. These things aren't natural, meaning someone must be creating them. Someone who clearly knows what they're doing. The list of people who could possibly do such things can't be long."

She nodded again and made for the door.

"Good luck, Commissioner."

* * *

Evan Rattle was seated in front of the television, watching his morning cartoons.

He was a troubled man. He sometimes had trouble discerning reality from fiction. Sometimes he hallucinated. Like now.

The window on his left, the one leading to the apartment block's fire escape, was open.

Something stood outside, obscured by the blinds. It wanted in.

But Evan knew it wasn't _really_ there. As long as he kept watching his bright and happy cartoons, it couldn't hurt him. And everyone would be happy again.

Claws slowly appeared from behind the blinds and gripped the window frame.

He was not worried. He regulated his breathing and watched the funny mouse hurt the cat. He was not worried at all.

A grotesque head was on the periphery of his vision, slowly looking around the room.

Evan liked the silliness of cartoons. No matter how much the mouse hurt the cat, no one was ever really hurt. They always came back to bring more cheer. Everyone was happy.

The creature entered fully and stood for a moment by the window, watching him.

He wasn't having much luck regulating his breathing. But it was okay. Everything was okay.

The thing left his vision. He felt it, rather than heard it, pass behind him.

Of course he didn't hear it. It wasn't actually there, after all. There was nothing there. This was a perfectly ordinary morning. Evan was just watching some cartoons.

There was nothing but the sound of cartoony violence. Evan was tempted to look behind him. Maybe the monster was harmless, maybe it just wanted shelter from the sun?

No, that wasn't it. There was no sound because there was no one but him in the apartment. He reminded his lungs of their duty, forcing the lazy things back to work.

They didn't work long. The claws clutched his shoulders, the creature breathing down his neck. Evan shuddered but kept his eyes focused on the screen.

"_Do you remember me?"_

He whimpered.

_"I tried to help you once. You might not have realized, but I was trying to help you."_

The cartoons were happy. He wanted to disappear into the screen. Be happy too.

_"Do you know why you suffer as you do? Because a part of you has been stolen."_

The credits started rolling. Evan started listening.

_"There are powerful, evil forces in this city. I tried to restore you, because I know what it feels like. To have a part of you stolen. I tried to restore you, but it was in vain. You won't be whole again. Unless we can beat them."_

Evan's lip wobbled. He felt like all the misery of the last few years of his life was bearing down on him full force.

"You d-d-didn't h-help me. You h-hurt m-m-me."

_"To help you. The restoration is a painful process. I believed I could restore your sight, but I was wrong. Only by destroying the evil that stole what is ours can we become whole again."_

"M-my sight?"

_"Your sight. You still see, but only halfway. Instead of truth you catch only glimpses, broken images instead of the beauty you should be seeing. They have taken it, to control you."_

He felt a spark of hope. He had always known the world wasn't as ugly as he saw it. Had always hoped.

"W-what d-d-did they t-take from y-you?"

Its head was just inches from his ear now.

_"My essence. They have cursed me. Cursed me so I cannot stand the light of day, cursed me so that I appear as I do now. I was a creature of light, but they have stripped me of my essence."_

His blood burned with righteous anger. He'd always dreamed it was so. That the world wasn't inherently evil. That it could be saved. That the world he saw every day was twisted, distorted. That something bright and beautiful lay beneath, just waiting to be drawn back to the surface. That They had hidden it.

"Who a-are they?"

_"They are the ones with power. They pose as creatures of light and abuse the trust people show them. Their leader poses as a beacon of hope, but he is truly a demon. He calls himself Gordon."_

Evan inhaled sharply.

"Demons? S-so y-you're a-a…?"

_"Yes, Evan. I am an angel. And I need your help."_

_

* * *

_It was surprising she had been able to simply walk home and get her car. She'd expected someone to be there, doing police stuff. Or at least some yellow tape to make the place look like it was under investigation.

But she supposed it was a good thing. And maybe they were just busy. Maybe something else had happened, something more important. This was Gotham, after all. And she'd rather they were off helping people than here keeping guard over nothing.

It was a truly beautiful morning. The sun beamed ever harder down at the dirty city. There was nary a cloud in the sky and the birds chirped happily as she drove down the street. She hadn't felt so relaxed in a long while.

She turned on the radio.

"_…experts speculate as to whether the whole city might be quarantined to keep the outbreak from spreading even further."_

There was much work to be done. She felt saddened at the thought of all the suffering, but things would get better soon. She had full faith in the city. She changed the channel.

_"Reports are coming in of multiple shootings last night, which our sources claim to be the latest developments in a rapidly escalating gang war."_

So that was why the police were busy. She wondered why the mobsters had to pick this time to start trouble. People could be so blind. But she supposed it couldn't be helped. All will do as they feel they must.

Perhaps they would see the way some day. Everything was so crystal clear if only one knew where to look.

But she needed to find out what Dr. Crane was up to. She pulled up next to an internet cafe.

* * *

Amidst dreams of menacing creatures draped in darkness coming after him and promising bodily harm, Floyd could feel himself being shaken. His horrid dreams slowly vanished from his thoughts and were quickly replaced by feelings of pain.

His eyes opened to see the ground rushing by, his body raking along the harsh surface. He quickly realized he was being dragged through the jungle-infested cavern by her vines. Despite his loud protests and struggling, they refused to listen to reason.

After numerous bumps and scratches his suffering was finally alleviated. The vines hefted him up into the air before depositing him close to her. He landed clumsily and rubbed his aching limbs.

"I got legs for a reason, ya know."

She had her back turned to him.

"You were asleep."

They were standing in front of a dark tunnel, what little Floyd could see of the walls covered with green.

"One of my many abilities is waking up. This enables me to walk, avoiding the pain that comes with being dragged along the floor. Incredible, I know."

She entered the tunnel.

"It does not matter. I want to show you something."

He hesitatingly followed into the darkness, moving slowly to avoid bumping into anything.

"What is this place? I don't think I've seen it before."

"It's new. I've been tunneling."

Her voice was a long way ahead of him.

"Will you slow down? I ain't gonna risk breakin' my neck to keep up with ya."

"Take my hand."

Something found his fingers, something warm and moist and digit-less.

"Please tell me that ain't your hand. And please tell me I don't have to hold it."

"Very well."

The thing slid up to his wrist and encircled it. Floyd felt bile rising in his throat.

"I think I'm gonna hurl."

"You're too demanding. You should be satisfied with this compromise."

The thing started tugging and Floyd reluctantly staggered along.

"Lesser men woulda just thrown up already. Me? I issue a warning beforehand. You should be thanking the gods for my company, not belittling me."

"Do not worry. Belittling you is impossible."

Floyd felt a bit more at ease than he usually did around her. She sounded more human than he had ever heard her.

"And would that be because I'm impressive enough to be impervious to ridicule, or because I couldn't possibly look sillier?"

Her answer came from the darkness right in front of him.

"I am sure you can guess."

Plants pulled back to reveal an exit, even the little light of the cavity beyond managing to be blinding. They stepped through and Floyd's eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light.

"What the hell?"

They were in the sewers, but slight modifications had been made. The whole place had felt the touch of her green thumb, wildly inappropriate plant life stretching throughout the tunnels as far as the eye could see. Across the stream of filth was a cavity in the wall, revealing numerous crates of explosives.

"This will be our means of transportation once the city starts coming apart."

A bunch of the bums were down here too, looking grim and determined. Floyd was starting to detest the sight of them.

"And the bombs?"

"Part of our next little strike. We are going to blow up the city's power plants."

He turned his head to look at her.

"Why?"

She leaned on the railing, inspecting the green banks of the sewer.

"I believe it will further our cause. Fear festers in darkness. Others will capitulate. Distraction after distraction to keep the authorities from the real threat."

Floyd felt a bit uncomfortable. Why did she have to tell him this? It reminded him of movie-villains, and Floyd did not like thinking such people actually existed. He forgot his discomfort at his next realization. If she were a movie villain, that would make him the brain-dead eye-candy draped over the villain's arm during the monologue.

"This is not just a way to get around unseen," she continued.

She let go of the leaf she had been stroking absentmindedly and turned to look at him.

"The end lies down here."

His discomfort reintroduced itself.

"That sounds ominous."

"Wouldn't you say?"

He pursed his eyes and wondered what she was referring to.

"But what does it mean?"

"In a matter of days, you shall see."

Vines started slowly crawling along the platform with the crates of explosives.

"For now, we have other duties to fulfill."

* * *

The Mad Hatter was seated outside a pub in the late afternoon sun, a hand tilting his hat down to keep the sun from his eyes. The street was empty, all the abandoned businesses serving to keep the little street from the world's rude stare.

Usually this place was infested with bums, but he noted with great pleasure that there was not a one smelly creature in sight this day. The only distraction had been the little mobsters that came to check if the place of meeting was safe. They were his now, and their signal for the big fish to arrive had been sent regardless.

His immense powers of concentration flailed wildly as he reached out to all his pawns. They were adequately placed, even if he was having trouble finding windows for some. They might have more luck by themselves but he did not trust their little minds for this, bless their hearts.

He raised his wrist. There was no clock there. He raised the other one. It was as he thought. Giovanni's friend was late, as well as infuriatingly rude. This just served to further focus the Hatter's anger. This was good, for he was no longer sure why he wanted to meet the man in the first place. It probably wasn't important anymore.

Finally a row of limos appeared. Such drab vehicles. All black and not a ray of hope to be seen. If he had a brush he would brighten the mood considerably. Alas, he would have to settle for something else entirely.

The limos came to a stop and countless insignificant gnats piled out, decked in even more black. Very droll. They peered around and he moved his pawns back to avoid their gaze, all but the ones he wanted them to see.

At last a silly man showed himself and the Hatter was sure this was the one. If one called oneself Black Mask, one would presumably be the one who wore a black mask, no? Although why it had to resemble a skull eluded him.

He smiled and moved his pawns back in place, running for cover as he pulled dozens of triggers. Countless small bursts of noise, some screaming, the pawns on the street falling not far from him, then a loud explosion to flip one of the limos on its head. Already it was more pleasing to the eye.

He sat with his back to a little stone wall and went through his person, looking for something to pass the time while the noise lasted. He drew forth a little book and inspected it with half a mind. It seemed to be a sketch book. Strange. He had no recollection of drawing any of the art inside. The pictures looked like something he might have seen in his world.

The chaos continued for a good while more but finally the Hatter had triumphed. There were some people squirming on the ground as he walked through the carnage. They came up during the rain, so as not to drown in their place in the ground, or so the Hatter had heard. They mattered not.

This one did, however. The mask had escaped unscathed as by some miracle. The torso was shredded, sadly. On second thought, that was exactly according to plan. He pondered whether to gloat over the body or not. Remembering his manners, he decided not to and was turning to leave when a mechanical sounding voice broke the delicious silence.

"_Did you really think killing the greatest leader in Gotham would be so easy?"_

He stopped and turned his head to better speak to the silly man.

"Yes?"

"_All you_'_ve managed is to anger me. No matter where you hide, I will find you. You_'_re a dead man walking, fool."_

_"_Aren't we all, dear, aren't we all?"

He kept walking away, barely hearing the reply.

"_Die, moron!"_

Another limo exploded, but the Hatter was not overly troubled. He was far enough away. The force of the explosion was enough to knock him to his knees though.

He stood up and realized he was somewhat livid.

* * *

AN: And so we reluctantly say our goodbyes to the Riddler. He'll be carted off to the hospital off-screen, where his leg will return to full capacity, because this is based on comics and therefore bullet wounds mean nothing. Besides, the humiliation should be more than enough. His swearing is a result of intense pain. And the "magnificent" part was because he was still slightly impressed, because Joan just showcased impressive accuracy. It struck me as amusing to have the nicest person in Arkham be a sharpshooter. It also started me thinking what sort of woman Riddler would be attracted to. I'm not completely sure, but I know he'd want someone he could engage in fierce games of passive-aggressiveness if he ever settled down.

Scarecrow's vision last chapter referenced Norse Mythology. His posing as an angel here is unrelated. More on the gang he is getting together in chapters to come.

The mobster names last chapter mean Dream, Bullet, Clean and Drink (or close enough). The new one is named Alive. Black Mask easily finds doppelgangers because his distinctive features consist of a mask. Paranoia pays, kids. Maybe there's some monologue about identity there, but I don't think it would fit.

Here Comes The Night is a song with Them.


	15. Ain't She Sweet

"Commish? Bullock here. Looks like somethin' big just went down this mornin'."

He stepped past an investigator and slowly made his way through the carnage.

"I'm standin' in a war-zone here. Corpses all over the street, in the surrounding buildings. Three cars wrecked beyond recognition. Signs of an explosion. Whole street shot to pieces."

He carefully avoided a large pool of blood as he stepped closer to the sidewalk.

"Looks like some Italians got wiped out. Dunno who they were fightin'. Don't look like any gang I know of."

He came to a stop by a body that lay in a heap by the curb, as if the force of the explosion had knocked it away.

"An' there's somethin' else. Remember that rumor I told you about? That guy everyone an' their mother was scared of?"

He peered at what looked like the charred remains of a black, wooden mask lying on the ground by the body's face.

"Looks like the bogeyman was real."

* * *

She knocked on the door and went over her earlier conversation with the guys at the lab.

"_So what_'_s your verdict on this thing?"_

_They talked for a whole minute, but she barely understood a word._

_"I_'_m sorry, I_'_m not very good with this kind of stuff," she interrupted. "Is there any simpler way you can put it?"_

_"Hey, no problem. At least you didn_'_t just nod your head and pretend to understand. The gist of it is this: We haven_'_t got a clue how that thing works."_

_She cocked an eyebrow._

_"But it still works? It_ _actually does something?"_

_The man grimaced._

_"Well, most of us think so. It_'_s too detailed, too small, too well crafted to be just a heap of junk. At least I think so. But still, it might as well be alien technology. We can_'_t even begin to understand it."_

The door opened a crack and a woman in her thirties appeared, her face poking through the crack.

"Yes?"

She looked wary, the tone of her voice suspicious. Her auburn hair was untidy and there were faint bags under her eyes.

"I'm Detective Montoya. We spoke on the phone earlier, about Randall."

The door closed and opened again after a quick rattling of the chain. Montoya stepped inside.

"So you want me to show you his stuff?"

She nodded. They walked further into the apartment, finally entering a room occupied by a laptop, a desk and a couple of bookshelves.

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

The woman sat down by the desk and started the laptop.

"About six months. This was kinda his room. Like a preliminary to moving in together."

Montoya coughed uncomfortably and inspected the bookshelves. It was mostly filled with airport literature, but there was one book that stood out, being about thrice the size of the others. She pulled it from the shelf.

"So," the woman continued, "can you tell me something about what happened? From what I've been told you don't actually know if he did something."

It was a copy of Alice in Wonderland, complete with illustrations.

"He confessed to murdering a missing officer. We haven't found a body. There's not much else I can tell you, I'm afraid."

She opened it and looked at the inside of the cover. Something was written there.

_rEAd! LeaRN!_

_One dAy we Will All gO and See. _

_WhY lIvE hErE wHeN yOu CaN lIvE eVeRyWhErE?_

_WHat IS REality? Why hapPen once When you Can happEn simulTaneousLy?_

"Is this his handwriting?"

She showed her the book. The woman nodded.

"Yeah, I think it's his. Weird. But I guess all he did the last few days was weird."

Montoya closed the book and laid it down on the desk.

"What exactly did he do?"

The woman stopped typing in the middle of a password and looked up at the detective.

"Like, doing everything he used to, but wait, that sounds stupid. It was like he was acting really normal. Trying so hard to be normal, it got creepy. So normal it became abnormal. He'd surf the internet, but it always looked like he wasn't actually reading anything or doing anything. Just doing it because he always did."

She finished typing the password, opening into his email account.

"He'd watch TV with me, but he didn't notice anything that happened on the screen. He'd kiss me, but there wasn't anything behind it, no emotion. He didn't answer any of the emails he got. Suppose it's wrong of me to trudge through his mail but I thought I was justified because of what happened."

She opened one email and pushed the laptop so the screen faced Montoya directly. It was sent only the day before, the sender named "Murphmeister".

_RealiTy is hAving TroubLe reaChing You. If still aRound, hidE where yoU were tolD. If nOt, fAreWelL._

_

* * *

_

"_Have some guys ready, Vivo. I might need backup to take this freak out."_

Vivo nodded.

"Will do," he muttered into the phone. "Found him already?"

"_I've had him tailed since the massacre. He's still got a small army with him."_

Vivo scowled at the mentioned catastrophe.

"Who the hell is this guy? How'd Gio know him?"

"_It doesn't matter. This guy_'s_ as good as dead." _

_

* * *

_

"How can you not know?"

He kicked the wall in frustration, gnashing his teeth and clenching his hands hard enough to feel his nails through the gloves.

"What else are you people for, if not knowing where the crooks are?"

The other man was unfazed by his show of anger.

"Do you just sit around and look useless?"

He gripped the man by the collar and leaned close to his face.

"Do you sit there and pretend, playing absentmindedly with your gleaming badges?"

His voice expressed perfect dissatisfaction. The epitome of fury, even if he did say so himself.

"How can you possibly play cops and robbers without knowing where the robbers are?"

The other man finally answered, his voice dull like all of the servants.

"Far as we know, he's just a rumor."

He turned away and threw his hands up in despair.

"Rumor? Is there no limit to incompetence? How can they not even be aware of the existence of such an impudent lout? It is beyond all reason, I tell you!"

Officer Murphy offered no more insights.

"Well, what about the coppers themselves? Had they discovered anything about me when you left?"

He fixed his hat, which had been set askew by his flurry of activity.

"Nothing."

He straightened out the creases in his suit.

"And finding your partner in uselessness has as of yet proved futile?"

He thought he saw a flicker of a person appear in the man's eyes, but it's duration was short.

"Yes."

He inspected his gloves with a sad expression.

"A pity. I am sure he cannot have read the great book more than five times. Poor, thoughtless, uncultured creature."

He picked up a book from a nearby table, smiling slightly.

"But it is still not too late for you. Even if you may not be as useful as I had envisioned, I can find something for you to do, I'm sure."

He moved over to the man and thrust the book into his chest.

"Once more, my dear, once more. No need for that grave look. Why don't you…? Why don't you…? Grave look…?"

He slammed his fist into his open palm in a fit of recognition.

"Of course! The dreadfully serious woman with the slimy dolt in the droll scenery! Of course!"

He rushed out of the room and through the hallway, down the stairs to the sleazy motel's vacant lobby, out into the squalid streets.

"Perhaps I should bring supplies. Biscuits. Tea. Blanket. Lay down on the green grass, chat up the lass. Oh, Jervis, you old rascal, old charmer."

* * *

They had spent the entirety of the day trudging through the sewers, slowly taking over each power plant with the help of her abilities, carefully moving the explosives into the plant, then going to the next power station to repeat the process. It had been terrifically boring. Floyd riled inwardly at the mere notion of going through the whole memory in detail. Now they were safely back in the cave, doing nothing in particular. Going over the memory seemed unavoidable. Unless conversation should arise.

"So," Floyd commenced, "what now?"

She raised her hand, a vine lowering itself in response. In just a few moments, the vine had formed itself into a swing. She sank back into the living seat.

"Now we wait. In a few hours, my men will detonate the charges. The city will be plunged into even more chaos."

Another vine lowered itself near him.

"No, thanks. I'm fine with standing."

It pulled back into the air with a slight rustling sound. Floyd stared suspiciously at it until it nestled into the roof of the cave.

"Then we will wait, while my last weapon grows. In the meantime we will find out what the city will do to defend itself. If things remain as they are, there will be little danger."

She leaned forward.

"But there is something I must ask you. Regarding your future."

She beckoned him closer and he hesitatingly obliged.

"I have an offer for you. I want you to become my agent in full. Perhaps even my right hand if you prove yourself. In exchange I can give you power, beyond that of any normal man."

He swallowed thickly.

"I got any choice?"

She smiled.

"Yes. You can walk away, try to hide from your former employers forever, should you wish to. I cannot ensure your survival in my new world, however."

He drew a deep breath. The idea of her messing around with his insides was not an appealing one.

"Would I be like one of your monsters? With all sorts of creepy stuff inside me?"

She slowly shook her head.

"Not quite. I would grant you enhanced endurance and immunity to poison. The process could go even further if you dared. Near immortality is what I offer as the ultimate reward. But you would not be strictly human anymore."

He ran a hand over his face.

"I dunno. I need to think about this. A drink maybe. If you don't mind me leaving for a short while?"

She gestured towards the exit.

"You have my permission, if you are sure your old friends will not find you."

He nodded.

"I know a place where they got no connections. I'll be alright."

She leaned back in her seat.

"Then go. Return within a few hours. No reason to take chances. The situation is quite volatile up above. And it will only get worse when the lights go out."

* * *

Evan was seated in the back of a van, along with seven shady men. Two others were up front and in the truck ahead of them was their leader along with three more. He didn't know much about the others, although he had a feeling he had seen some of them before. Victims like him, most likely. Men whose past had been twisted, just like his.

He could remember without pain now, because none of it was real. He had worked for the mob for years. He had brought them steady profits, never been sent to jail. He'd been loyal. He'd worked hard to gain their favor. But they would not have him.

They said he didn't have what it takes. That he was good at stealing cars, nothing else. That he wasn't cut for the big league.

So he'd pleaded with his contacts. Declared his willingness to do anything. And they'd given him a chance.

There was a man that needed to disappear. They gave no more details. He needed none. He was determined.

He had gone to the man's apartment, waited for him to appear. When he did, Evan had raised a shaking hand. And pulled the trigger.

The man fell to the ground, lay there gasping. It probably took him just a few minutes to die. But it felt like an eternity.

He looked up at Evan, his eyes full of fear and pain. Then his gaze moved to the sky. It was there it stayed, even after the spark behind his eyes was gone. The man was gone. And it hurt.

It hurt. Evan knew he should run, but he could not. Instead he dropped the gun and sat down, his eyes never leaving the lifeless figure.

He was brought before the judge and the only thing that kept him out of hell was the angel.

Because the angel had known. Like Evan knew now. That it hadn't actually happened. That it was a lie. That he was not a bad man.

It was a false memory. An attempt to control him. He would never be controlled again. That was why he now sat in the back of a van, clutching a gun.

The world was broken. Destroyed by powerful evil forces. But Evan was not frightened. He was going to ride into hell, laughing in death's face as he did. He was going to save the world.

* * *

Gordon sat at his desk, annoyed at the lack of results from his day's work. The bums had offered nothing new and he had not been able to trace their weapons. They were the same models as plenty other criminals in the city used. He was sure it was that new supplier, but the only thing the police had dug up about him so far was a nickname. The Penguin. Gordon grunted in disgust and leaned back in his chair, swiveling it around to look out on the city. He stared intently at the opposite rooftop. There was an outline of a gargoyle on the edge of the roof. He could have sworn he hadn't seen it before. But then again, those things were all over the city, so maybe he had just become ignorant to their presence. He continued squinting at it.

He sprang from his seat as he realized what it was. The figure disappeared. Gordon walked briskly out of his office, hurried down the stairs, muttered something about going for a breath of air to Stephens and barged out of the building, into the warm summer evening. He slowed his walking and let his eyes roam the rooftops. There was no sign of the figure. Gordon sighed and set off for the most secluded place he could think of. He walked for a few minutes before reaching a poorly lit alleyway. He went down the alley and lit a cigarette. He did not have to wait long for company. It was just a slight rustling, but he was sure he knew what it meant.

"Did you let me see you back there or am I getting better at this?"

He turned around.

"**I know who we're dealing with. Pamela Lillian Isley, a botanist. She went missing years ago in South-America, after some sort of accident. She's an expert on poison and I suspect she is also behind the creatures that have been popping up. "**

The Batman was standing just a few feet away from him, looking unusually haggard.

"I heard about her disappearance. From a former colleague of hers. He also assured me modern technology was not advanced enough to possibly produce those monsters. But I don't know what to believe."

Gordon put the cigarette back between his lips.

"**I'm sure it's her. I saw her with my own eyes."**

He pursed his eyes.

"How would you describe her skin color?"

The dark figure hesitated.

"**You've seen her?"**

He nodded.

"In a firefight, when we found the Scarecrow's hideout. They might be working together, or maybe they're enemies. It's hard to tell. It was just a stroke of luck we found them anyway, we were looking for someone else entirely."

The Batman's eyes seemed vacant, the wheels whirring behind them.

"**Too much of a coincidence. They have to be working together. And Crane will want his research back. You should make sure it's safe."**

Gordon threw away the stub of his cigarette.

"It's safe. He'd have to make a full frontal assault against police headquarters to get it. We've got more than enough manpower to keep him out."

The cowled head nodded in approval.

"**What about the gangs?"**

He cleared his throat.

"There's news on that front. Are you aware of that rumor about the man in the black mask?"

"**He's not just a rumor. He's connected to the Italian mob."**

Gordon nodded.

"Exactly. We found a masked corpse along with a great number of dead Italians and their associates after a particularly violent fight."

He wiped sweat from his brow. The heat showed no sign of giving up any time soon.

"**Can't be the real one. I'm not optimistic enough to think the terror of the underworld can be defeated so easily. Who were the Italians fighting?"**

He scratched his mustache.

"That's the weird part. There seem to have been men from all over opposing them. Russians, Irish, unaffiliated crooks, even other Italians."

He jumped as something hit the trashcan right behind him. He spun around with wide eyes.

"**Strange. Desertion has never been a problem for them, especially now that they have such a feared leader. I'll check into it, if I can't track Isley."**

A cat stared up at him with defiant eyes. He chuckled and turned back to the Batman.

"You should be careful. The mayor's requested the aid of the military. I think he's right in doing so. With the gangs at war, the plague raging and unnatural monsters on top of that, we just can't handle the situation."

It was hard to discern emotions through that mask, but Gordon could swear the Batman looked surprised.

"**I guess I'll leave the car at home, then. But what about the plague? How bad is it?"**

A plump bird landed on the edge of the roof above them, prompting the cat to leave its post.

"Hard to tell. There could be any number of infected people out there right now, spreading it further. As a last resort, the mayor's planning on quarantining the city within 24 hours. Things are going to get a lot worse before we can even think of putting things right."

The Batman grunted.

"**We'll get through this."**

Gordon thoughtfully turned around.

"You sure?"

There was no answer this time. Gordon smiled and set off toward the station.

* * *

AN: You'll have to excuse the absence of techno-babble in the description of Hatter's technology. Making believable explanations on stuff that doesn't exist doesn't seem to be a strong suit of mine.

Ain't She Sweet with the Beatles.


	16. God's Gonna Cut You Down

The Mad Hatter found himself back at the park, staring out into the night with a forlorn air. The night was warm and oh, so empty. The infinite number of trees stretched out before him swayed slowly in the darkness, dancing sadly with each other, filling the air with deep sighs as the leaves rattled. His basket swung listlessly in his arm, the wine within growing impatient. The Hatter sighed and sadly inspected his watch. Three messengers had already been swallowed by the night and there was no sign of her coming up. He couldn't even feel them anymore. He set off into the park. Even if his messengers had vanished into the earth, he was safe. He was much too important to have such a dull end. And surely she was curious. Everyone liked being courted, even women who made people disappear. Especially when pursued so unrelentingly.

His shoes squeaked as he floated across the green grass, the trees shaking rudely in his direction. He ignored their beckons and insinuations and moved onward. Further and further into the darkness of the green, till the dull grays of the street were out of view. Then, and only then, did he let himself drop to the ground. He opened the basket, threw a blanket haphazardly on the ground and brought forth two glasses, filling them with red. Lo and behold, within only a few sips she had materialized behind him.

"What are you doing here?"

He raised a hand to steady his hat as he was hefted into the air. He craned his head backwards to see her. He smiled and tipped his hat, which was no mean feat when hanging upside-down. He regarded her fondly. She was wearing the most unconventional clothing, which slithered hither and tither. Hatter felt neither one way or the other about the ensemble. Her face was a mask of displeasure. He smiled even wider to put her more at ease.

"Offering you a glass of wine, to drink under the moon."

He leaned forward again, straightening out his position and reached for the second glass, ignoring the pain in his neck as he did so. With a steady hand he held it out to his side. After a moment of nothing, he moved the hand further in her direction, his progress stopped only by the limitations of the human body. It was getting quite uncomfortable, but he willed his hand to stand firm. Patience was of the essence.

"Is that all?"

He felt something that was hardly a hand remove the glass from his grasp and smiled further as he was reacquainted with the ground. He returned his arm to its proper position and shook it gently to rid himself of the lingering discomfort. He shook his head slowly yet surely, indicating his friendliness and patience. If this did not put her at ease he did not know what would. He opened his mouth far and wide in preparation, then spoke with great wisdom.

"No, it is merely the beginning. One does not barge in on a lady and start demanding something or other."

He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip. She still showed no sign of moving into his line of sight. Or sitting down. He pondered upon the situation for but a moment before slowly and clumsily turning himself around without standing up.

"But what is it you wish? It must be important if you are willing to brave this encounter after none of your men survived."

He stared up into her eyes and motioned for her to take a seat. She showed no sign of doing so. He noticed that he wasn't sitting on the blanket. It was lying defiantly a few feet away, its presence mocking him. He gave an indignant huff, his right eye twitching swiftly in anger at the object. He moved his attention back to her. She was still staring down at him, yet with less displeasure now.

"The world will not weep. But do taste the wine. It is wonderful, I promise you."

She obligingly took a sip. No look of ecstasy appeared on her features, but neither was there disapproval. Hatter decided this substituted a success. Mostly she seemed confused. His presence often seemed to have that effect.

"I appreciate the sentiment. But I want you to tell me what you want here. From what I hear, you were hired to assassinate me."

He let his eyes wander to the skies as he mulled over those words. He took another sip as he pondered. And another. The trees still shivered in the wind, her clothing still slithered. But she herself showed no sign of aggression. He turned his eyes back to her with a broad smile on his face.

"That was a lifetime ago. Now I am doing something else entirely."

There was a short silence as she apparently pondered his words. The short silence stretched into a long one. She sipped her wine and he hummed in glee. But her eyes were starting to puzzle him. He didn't notice her blink even once. Just a continuous stare, the bright green eyes trying to bore into his mind. If he were the type to be unsettled, he would be very unsettled. Thankfully, he was not.

"You're a bit mad, aren't you?"

He chuckled good-naturedly. He was sure she was relaxing now, no longer suspicious of his presence. The time to strike would soon be upon him.

"Oh, yOu caN't helP tHat. we'Re aLl mAd heRe."

She lowered herself to the ground slowly and silently, the grass shivering even more. Hatter pondered briefly why he did not feel this strong wind that swept across the greenery. Perhaps he was impervious to wind, he realized. He offered up the bottle. She held out her glass and he stared mesmerized as the warm, red liquid flowed endlessly. She motioned for him to stop and raised it to her lips, drinking deeply.

"Would you mind telling me what exactly you want, if my demise is not your goal?"

He shook his head back and forth, making disapproving little tut, tut sounds. He brought his pearly whites out from behind his teeth as he focused his gaze on her once more. He pursed his eyes in glee at his own cunning, the tiny orbs no doubt twinkling like a thousand burning stars. He wondered briefly if the world was a painting. If it were, he would be the center of it. And the background.

"All in due time. Let us talk of our host first. What does she want?"

Those unblinking eyes finally wavered, turning to the dark treetops and the moon above. She gave a little resigned sigh and looked back to him with a slight smile. It reminded him of someone he didn't remember at all.

"Talking to you can hardly hurt. I won't go into details, but suffice to say, I wish to save the world."

"Very lofty," he interjected. The corners of her mouth turned upward. "But what, then, is the cause for sadness?"

"Doubts."

She looked deep in thought, so the Hatter decided not to pry. Instead he surveyed the greenery around him. He saw trees that he didn't really remember the names for and… more trees that he didn't really remember the names for. And some grass. He quickly lost interest and turned back to his host with keen eyes. If she were a plant he would not know her name either. It would no doubt be something regal and red.

"I fear I am still weak," she finally went on. "I am alone. It should not be a problem. But it is. I start making excuses to keep someone around me, someone to talk to. And the realization strikes me. I am still human. I am still fettered."

Her right hand toyed idly with a daisy, stroking the petals as she stared up into the sky.

"And I start doubting. What if I am wrong? Is it all worth it? Do I have the right? Should we all just lay down and let this continue, allow the earth to be scarred even further? No. Nature has been ravaged for too long. And nature has decided to answer. I am the answer. I believe this. I do."

She looked back down at him and smiled wearily.

"But still the doubts linger."

He hummed thoughtfully. He liked listening to people talk about their problems from time to time. Because he didn't have any himself. His world was all smiles and friends and good times. But just because he had no burdens of his own did not mean he could not appreciate good misery.

"So you will lay waste to everything? How delightfully un-ladylike. But if you believe in destiny, it cannot be helped. Do what you want to do, is what they always say. Unless destiny says otherwise, at which point things get confusing."

She finished her glass and placed it back in his basket, eying him with an amused look. She stood and twirled her hair lazily with one finger.

"Would you like to tell me what you want now?"

He swirled the wine in his glass and scrunched his eyes in concentration. Then his face shot upwards and he poured the contents of the glass down his throat. He excitedly threw it away, noting just a hint of dissatisfaction upon her features.

"You would not happen to know where a man with a black face resides? It is a brutish thing, about yea big," he held out his hands in approximation.

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her hands on her chest. From the corner of his eyes he could see something green fetching his discarded glass and slithering towards his basket. He was too focused on staring at his host with a look of eager anticipation and a slightly crooked smile to pay it much heed. She told him of a number of locations, all of which were readily stored in the indomitable fortress that was his memory. It was time to part. She smiled at him as she bade him farewell.

"Good luck, my mad friend. And do be careful. Life around here will soon become very dangerous."

He trotted a few steps away, leaving the basket and blanket, before turning around and taking off his hat to her and bowing with a bright smile.

"Oh, don't worry. We're eternal, the sun and I."

* * *

Floyd sipped his drink with a look of dull desperation. He looked around the dingy bar. A trio of men sat drinking by the window. They spoke loudly but were still drowned out by the din of the room. By the leery grins and occasional bursts of raucous laughter, he guessed they were sharing tales of carnal exploits. But even in their loud laughter there was a note of trepidation, a hollow sound in their voices. A sleazy man rested one arm on the wall as he leered down at a scantily clad woman with dirty blond hair. A man wearing a wrinkled suit stared numbly out the window with his drink in hand. Floyd looked back down to his own drink.

It didn't matter if she allowed him to leave. The city was closed now. They were all stuck in this hellhole. Stuck between madmen, the mafia and whatever the hell she was. It didn't matter that he had a choice. He could try to hide from the mafia while hoping whatever horror she unleashed on the city next didn't get him or staying with her and letting her change him into something inhuman. There was no good choice. There was no way out.

Floyd sharply looked up again. He wasn't sure what, but something felt wrong. The guys by the window were still spitting in each others faces with laughter, the sleazy pair had started kissing. But the staring man's position had changed. His eyes were wide and his glass was tipped sideways, the beer slowly dripping to the floor. More people were joining him in staring at something outside the window.

The glass shattered as a man was hurled through it, tipping over the trio's table and landing in a heap on the floor. Everyone jumped back, then backed even further away as a huge shadow filled the broken window and sprang inside. A handful of people started fleeing even before his voice rang out.

"Anyone not named Floyd Gift may leave in an orderly fashion."

The stream of running people grew. Floyd threw a bottle in desperation at the imposing figure. It did not cause everyone to join in and gang up on the invader. Instead the Batman caught it and crushed it in his gloved hand, the glass and booze sprinkling uselessly to the floor. The stream of runners grew into a river that pounded through the door at record speed. He was left alone with the Batman. This couldn't be happening. There was no way. No one was this unlucky.

"I-I don't know nuthin," he sputtered more out of instinct than anything.

He couldn't even make out the Batman's face in the dimly lit room. Just a dark outline towering over him, drawing slowly closer. The floorboards creaked and groaned with every step of the imposing giant, the old wood threatening to split under the mass of armor and muscle.

"Now, I know that's not true, Floyd…"

At that exact moment the lights went out as the bombs went off far, far away. The knowledge of why the lights had gone did nothing to alleviate the strangling fear that coursed through his veins.

"You know a lot of things."

He could see a darker shadow than the rest of the room just in front of him. From the direction of the voice, he realized it was the man's chest. He saw, or imagined he saw, a hand reaching out through the darkness.

"You know how many fingers you have…"

His breath came in short, shuddering gasps.

"How many toes…"

* * *

Ten minutes later Floyd was running through the dark streets, still shaking wildly. He knew it was bound to happen. His luck simply had to return. And that was the only explanation for what had happened. The Batman had not known what he had been up to these past few days. He had not come to deliver misplaced retribution. He had only recognized his face as that of an enforcer for the mafia. All he wanted was information about his former employers. And Floyd had been happy to supply him. He told him of every rumor he had ever heard, about the man in the mask and even a few locations he knew the boss used. He neglected to mention he had heard all this from her. And then, before he could so much as dislocate a shoulder or break a jaw, soldiers had arrived to investigate the scene. A mighty scuffle erupted and soon the Batman had disappeared, with the soldiers on his heels. Floyd cackled nervously as he ran down the road, blessing lady luck all the way home.

* * *

"And you lost him?"

His gravelly voice filled the small space of the limo, reverberating in the seats and the tinted windows and the man in front of him, causing him to shudder involuntarily. The man swallowed, fiddled with the fabric of his pants, opened his mouth and closed it, finding it hard to speak.

"Yes, sir, but," he spat out rapidly, "we saw someone else too. We found her. The woman our man on the inside described. She was here. We think the park is her hideout."

His eyes wandered over to the windows. He watched the trees through the tinted glass, swaying slowly in the darkness not 60 yards away. He could feel a smile forming beneath the mask as he turned back to his underling. He chuckled, a dark sound spreading like smoke throughout the vehicle. The man in front of him started sweating even more as the Black Mask looked at him with a gleam in his eye.

"Get more men over here. And gasoline. Plenty of gasoline."

* * *

Detective Stephens was going home. He had stayed at the station far too long, trying to help in any way he could think of. But he could stay no longer. His family needed him. He couldn't leave them alone in the house knowing what was going on in the city. What difference did it make where he stood and acted useless? At least at home he would be a comforting figure. Yes, it was time to go. He nodded to his coworkers, entered the elevator, sighed at the sight of his disheveled reflection. He nodded again as he walked through the reception, this time at the group of men designed to show the might of the police in order to dissuade attacks. As if anyone was crazy enough to attack police headquarters.

He could feel a slight rumbling in the ground and the lights went out, drenching the lobby in shadows. He could hear glass breaking and something clattering to the ground with a faint hissing noise. Soon there was the sound of gunfire and screams and he threw himself to the ground, vicious coughs racking through his body as he inhaled the gas that was slowly filling the room. The lights blinked on again, the back-up generator no doubt kicking in. The officers that were still standing had all thrown on gas masks and were returning fire. But a large number of them were lying on the ground like him, looking deathly ill. Stephens swung his head around and saw masked men shooting from outside the windows. One tried to run inside and was immediately shot down. Stephens' vision went black.

He came to again to see the masked men pouring in. The gunfire from his colleagues had all but died down. Now that they came closer, he could see the masked men were wearing what looked like potato sacks. Then they changed, swirling endlessly, wet pools where their heads should have been, trying to suck his mind in. He blacked out.

His eyes opened again and most of the masked men were out of his sight. He could still see some of them from the corner of his eyes, looming above him like some unholy monsters. He could hear men gasping, whimpering, breathing heavily. The whole room seemed to sway. Then something entered. It was a silhouette of a man, clad in fluttering draperies, ill-defined. Its clothing, or its skin, seemed to move with a life of its own, like snakes or flames snapping out at the empty air, flowing onto the floor. It walked briskly, but there was something wrong with the way it moved. Something twitchy, something unreal. The troubled breathing from the poor souls around him grew into unsuppressed wailing and screaming and as he blacked out once more, Detective Stephens realized this was hell.

* * *

Evan burned with passion, with purpose, as they fought their way through the filth. They were like a scythe in the mighty hand of god, cutting down the sinful creatures gathered before them, delivering his divine retribution. The blood of the evil filled the cold and empty halls, reaching their knees as they waded through the fortress. All the way they were surrounded by a mist of glory, the angel's holy weapon causing the wicked to feel all the pain they had ever inflicted throughout their lives.

It felt unreal. Time had no meaning anymore. It was a never-ending instant, the triumph of good over evil reverberating throughout history, expressed in the eternal instant of the battle they now fought. On both sides the warriors fell, but theirs was a side backed by the divine purpose, the touch of a saint. The tide would not be held back. They barreled through the hordes until they reached a dark hall, spreading far out before them. They ran past darkened corridors filled with rows upon rows of boxes, layers of dust lining the lifeless objects. Finally the angel stopped, reached out for one of the containers and cut it open. Then it laughed.

"What is it?" Evan asked through his mask. "Is it the answer? Why aren't you healed?"

His thudding heart was slowing now, the pounding of his blood quieting down, coursing slower through his veins. The haze of glory was slowly diminishing, exhaustion starting to seep through his bones. And for a single moment… he worried.

"This is the beginning," the angel's voice soothed him and Evan felt all his worry slip away, replaced by a bright hope in his chest. "The full answer will come soon. Even though Gordon has escaped, I begin to heal. Can't you see?"

And he did. It was faint, so faint one would not have seen it without looking for it. But it was there. A translucent extension of his body, spreading out wide, promising infinite beauty and brightness, shining with a faint inner light. Evan saw the angel's wings. And Evan wept.

* * *

Private Connors was walking alongside an APC through the streets of Gotham. He'd heard stories of this place. A city so absurd, so infested with crime that it made all others pale in comparison. Gotham was the example used to dissuade country youngsters from leaving. It was both the highest and lowest point of the country. Home to the most famous, most powerful people and filled with the tallest buildings, the most impressive architecture. But also the city with the largest slums, the most squalid living conditions. And home to the most infamous, most powerful of criminals and illegal organizations. It was this latter group that brought them here today, to this tormented city.

The briefing had reminded him of something out of a science fiction movie. When they arrived, he'd half expected to see either monsters filling the streets or a ribbon declaring them April's fools. But the streets were quiet. The city felt deserted. They had seen no gang violence so far, no citizens in need of help, not even a bum had entered their view. It made him uneasy. Then the power had gone out, the city growing even darker. They were informed by radio that someone had blown up the city's power stations. But they were to stick to their patrol route. Then the radio crackled again, hazy information of a Batman sighting. His unease grew. What the hell was this place?

Then more reports came in. Reports of police headquarters being attacked by a scarecrow. The question went through his head again. What the hell was this place? And he found himself wishing they'd brought more men. He could feel the terror in the air. A plague running rampant, outlandish enemies that sounded almost supernatural, mafia warlords waging war on each other. He imagined this is what the cities in the middle ages must have been like as the Black Death and paranoia raged.

He was snatched from his thoughts by the sight up ahead. The APC's lights fell on a group of armed men standing over a woman lying on the street. The men quickly surrendered when they noticed the soldiers aiming at them, throwing their weapons to the ground and lining up against the wall. While his comrades restrained them, Connors crouched down by the woman. He reached his hand out.

"Ma'am?" he asked through his gas mask.

He laid his hand on her shoulder as he spoke. He felt a sting in his palm, through his glove. He jerked his hand back, cursing loudly. He tore the glove off his hand and inspected the wound. It was just a tiny cut. But he was starting to feel dizzy. It was too hot. He felt like he could pass out if he so much as moved. He was vaguely aware of the woman raising herself up. He felt the mask leave his face. A heavenly smell filled his senses and he slumped to the ground.

He woke again to the sight of her face smiling down at him. All his comrades were standing close by without their masks, along with the men that had surrendered. But he could not keep his eyes off her for more than a moment. Her hand was toying with his hair and her eyes were boring into his.

"I need your help," he heard through the haze, "And the help of a few more of your friends. You need to protect my darling in the deep. And you must help me feed her."

* * *

AN: God's Gonna Cut You Down with Johnny Cash.

Yes, I am getting cute with the names again. Yes, I realize giving Floyd the last name "Poison" (in German) may be going too far.

The Batman scene is imitating a scene from the comic story "City of Scars". It features the scariest Batman I've ever seen. And some of the prettiest Mr. Freeze art I've ever seen. And the Penguin's nose look like a chili pepper.

Evan's confusing wanna-be religious experience is my way of avoiding a detailed description of a firefight. Yes, I am very lazy.

Less one sentence paragraphs! Let the trumpets sound, my friends.


	17. The Mad Hatter's Song

The sleepy night blanketed Gotham Plaza, thick heat and thicker shadows enveloping the statues of great men and benches for tired men. Silence reigned, apart from the occasional sound of gunfire from the other, seedier parts of town. There was no real danger of violence here, this was the respectable side of the city. But still the people fastened their windows and barricaded themselves in their fancy apartments, trying to hide from the plague and the madness. And so no one noticed as the ground outside all the beautiful apartment blocks started trembling ever so slightly. No one noticed as the first cracks appeared in the pavement of the plaza. All they noticed was the thick darkness, the dimmed gunfire and the strained beating of their own hearts.

* * *

Gordon raced through the darkness, the car's headlights barely enough to illuminate the street in front of him. Bullock sat in the passenger seat, surprisingly silent. It was a jarring change from the usual flow of obscenities. The siren's weak wailing filled the strained silence instead, backed up by a chorus of police sirens following them. A muffled ring sounded from the closed glove compartment. Bullock dully regarded it for a moment before popping it open and retrieving a sleek, black mobile phone Gordon had never seen before. Bullock stared long and hard at the phone before passing it over with a frown.

"When all a' this is over, we need ta have a talk, you an' me."

Gordon hastily answered, muttering something inaudible into the phone as a greeting.

"**It's me. I'm about to attack the Black Mask's headquarters. Where are you?"**

His fists clenched around the steering wheel.

"We got a tip on the Scarecrow's location. Have you heard?"

There was a short silence on the other end.

"**I heard. Need any assistance?"**

Gordon shook his head and tried to keep his voice calm.

"No, I've got this. I've got half the force with me. He's not getting away from this."

"**How did he do it?"**

The fleet of police cars whizzed by a store, their lights landing on a large group of looters. The men stood frozen in the headlights for a solitary moment as they stared slack-jawed at the rapidly approaching army of cops. The crooks dropped their loot and ran for it, scattering this way and that like a pack of rats fleeing a fire. Bullock laughed bitterly, the barking sound raking through the commissioner's eardrums.

"He attacked as soon as the power went out. The coherent survivors say he had a small army with him. We've identified a few of them. All former small time crooks and thugs. Part of the crowd Crane had transferred to Arkham during Falcone's reign."

From the corner of his eyes he could see Bullock fingering his pistol in its holster. There was no expression on his face.

**"He may have experimented on them. Warped their minds to suit his own purpose."**

Gordon clenched his jaw.

"You think they're victims? I can't take any chances. These men are dangerous."

There was another short silence on the other end.

"**Alright. Be careful, Commissioner."**

He threw the phone back into the open glove compartment and put his eyes back on the road, pretending not to notice the occasional glances Bullock was casting his way.

"I owe you an explanation, I know. But this isn't the time," he muttered without looking over at him. There was no answer from Bullock. "We'll surround the whole block, then move in. He's taken many from us, our friends and colleagues. But we're going to do this right. I don't want him to have any chance of getting away. Dead or alive, we're getting him."

* * *

He tore through the air, letting go of his line in mid-swing and spreading his cape, soaring above the streets like some unholy creature from a dream. The streets below were deserted, only stray cats scurried below. Gunfire could be heard from all over the city, each crack tearing another piece out of his sanity. The city was at war and he could not stop them. All he could hope for was to keep the carnage to a minimum by striking at the men behind it all. Men like the Black Mask. He shot out another grapple and latched himself onto a building. It was a run down compound with barred windows, what little that was visible of the interior even darker than the night outside. He climbed to the roof of the building and looked for an entrance. There was a skylight in the middle of the room, a faint light inside. He could see nothing but masks of various kinds lining the walls and an iron maiden in the middle of the room. It was too obvious. It had to be a trap.

A gunshot sounded from inside and a short burst of light showed beneath a door by the wall. Batman threw all concerns for his safety aside and smashed through the skylight, running at full speed towards the door. He kicked it open and flung gas pellets into the dark room as he surveyed the scene before him through his cowl's night-vision. His mind took in all the details and raced to come up with a plan. There were exactly 29 men inside the room, five apparently dead, one unarmed, two men alive but wounded lying on the floor, ten armed with semi-automatics, six with pistols, four with machine guns and one carrying a bloody machete. One of the pistol-wielders was aiming at a prone man despite the growing smoke. The only way to win this was to act fast and use the confusion and fear to his advantage.

He disarmed the man holding the pistol in the prone man's face with a well-placed batarang. Two seconds. With a practiced ease he drew two more batarangs and threw them at two of the men with the machine guns. Three seconds. He took down the first three he reached with successive blows to their necks and temples. Seven seconds, one pistol and two semi-automatics down. He catapulted himself over the next target, kicking the back of his head as he went, using his momentum to tackle another to the ground, adding a blow to the head to take him down completely. Six seconds, a semi and a machine gun down. He dove down and kicked the next one's feet from under him, grabbing his shirt mid-fall and throwing him at the crowd to his right. Nine seconds, five down but only one permanently. The fear inspired by the show of strength would make up for it. He dove out of the thick smoke, saw the last machine gun and threw a batarang into the barrel. Ten seconds. Machine guns all down. Seventeen targets left conscious, eleven armed with guns. One machete, four unarmed advancing, one standing still. His body language was unthreatening, which, if Batman had learned anything, probably meant he was the most dangerous.

But there was no fear. They all seemed co-ordinated, as well as they could be considering the low visibility. Batman dived just in time to evade a volley, the wall and part of his cape shredded by the countless bullets. He threw bolas into the smoke and sprinted for the nearest door, pouncing through it and grappling up to the ceiling just in time to escape the next volley. Sixteen seconds. He looked around the new room. Three bodies on the ground, one of them decapitated. The door just below him opened and two men rushed in. He dropped down on them, knocking their skulls together. Three seconds, two semis down. He hurled three batarangs at the crowd. Two seconds, two pistols taken out, one miss.

But before he could move once more, the crowd rushed him, pouring through the door and pushing him back. Two rapid punches, three seconds, one more down. His hands were being held back. Twist and kick, two seconds, another one down. Fourteen left. He was tackled to the ground, but managed a nerve pinch in mid-fall. Thirteen left. Something was brought over his head and he faintly heard someone screaming: "No! Not like that, you fools! Get it off! Off! Before it's too…". The voice died out and suddenly Batman was no longer there.

* * *

He is staring in a mirror. In it he sees himself, seated at the VIP table of Gotham's best restaurant. The warmly lit hall is filled with tables, occupied by the most important people society has to offer, enjoying their dinner and occasionally casting adoring glances his way. Decorative columns line the perimeter of the room, fancy little chandeliers hanging by every table and grander ones lining the ceiling. At his own table, he is surrounded by charming and attractive women vying for his attention, feebly calling his name. But he is busy. He is admiring his own grinning reflection. He has been told time and again that he is handsome, by models, by magazines, by everyone. He is handsome, this should come as news to no one, least of all him. But DEAR LORD!

A stranger he does not recognize has entered the room, clad in a garish blue coat with an atrocious top hat. Bruce barely represses a chuckle. The man skits between tables, staring intently at its occupants, then heading for the next one. No one seems to notice him. Bruce dismisses the problem. It will probably be solved by one of the waiters or something. He turns back to the mirror and smiles brightly at his reflection. He's the happiest guy in Gotham. But there is something nagging at the back of his mind now. Like he really has something better to do. This all feels wrong somehow.

* * *

Bruce Wayne sits at his desk and inhales the smell of stale smoke that always seems to linger in his office. He is a hard boiled detective living in a hard boiled world. His name is not known to normal people, but those who do know him know him as someone who can unravel any mystery, no matter how convoluted or gritty. The phone rings. He answers gruffly. It is a hysterical dame in need of assistance. He clutches the brim of his hat and lowers it to hide his eyes as he ponders the situation in a hard boiled manner. He hangs up and walks to the window of his dingy office. Outside the oblivious mob hustles by, unaware of the unthinkable mysteries that the hard boiled detective sifts through every day. One man sticks out of the crowd, however. Bruce has a vague feeling he has seen him before.

It is a short man in a suspicious blue coat, sticking out of the dull gray crowd like a sore thumb. Bruce feels an unease he hasn't felt in a long time. There is something very wrong about the man, even if the detective is unsure just what that is. The strange man has his back turned to Bruce, his face and actions mostly out of view. But it looks like he is running between people, searching for someone. No one seems to notice him. And suddenly he stops. With a jerk he turns his head around and peers straight up at the window. Bruce jerks back and the man sets off running toward the building's entrance. This can only mean trouble. Bruce runs over to his desk and hurriedly pulls out a drawer. The pistol feels good in his hand, the familiar weight of his old friend putting his mind at ease. But something doesn't feel right.

* * *

Bruce is riding the monorail with his parents. He stands and gazes out at the city and plays at maintaining his balance as the train shakes as it hurtles along the rails. They're going to see another stupid opera, but it's okay. Time spent with his dad is always worth it. So if he won't have to leave at any time tonight to help sick people, it's worth putting up with a few hours of crushing boredom. With adoration in his eyes he asks if dad built this train. His dad is a hero.

There is a commotion further down the train. A strange looking man is running through, staring into people's faces with wide, unblinking eyes. Bruce quickly looks away. There's something troubling about the man. And he feels like he's seen him before. He looks a bit like a character from the book his mom has been reading with him. But the way he moves reminds him of clowns. And Bruce hates clowns. But it's okay, his dad is here, ready to protect him. Bruce looks back at his father with a frown of confusion. There's something wrong about all this. He hears a frustrated scream come from somewhere close by as he closes his eyes.

* * *

He is sitting in front of his massive computer in the cave. He decides to take a break from his current case and rises from his chair, turning to stare into the comforting depths of the darkness. It always fills him with a sense of awe to see it. All his vehicles and gadgets and technology, gleaming proudly. They look so insignificant next to the gaping vastness of the cave. It fills him with a feeling of strength, of being backed by some primal power older than time itself. He does not truly believe in destiny, but sometimes the feeling creeps up on him. His thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Alfred's quiet footsteps.

"I feel so strange, Alfred."

The footsteps stop and he just knows his butler is at this very moment looking up at him with that look of mild confusion.

"How so, Master Bruce?"

He crosses his arms behind his back and stares up at the cave's ceiling as he tries to gather his thoughts, for himself as much as Alfred.

"Like none of this is real. And I'm not just talking about right now. These last few weeks have felt so absurd. This can't really be my life. I almost feel like I'm a character in some poorly written story. It's like my life has become nothing but Batman. I hardly feel human anymore. Isley and Mask and Scarecrow and more all at the same time? It's too much, too improb…What am I thinking? I can't waste my time on this when they're tearing up the city!"

He spins around and storms toward the computer. He does not get very far, however. The sight of what his butler is doing stops him dead in his tracks. He can not utter a single word. Instead he settles for staring slack-jawed. Alfred raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"Alfred. What is that?"

His old friend looks down at the garment in his hands.

"This? Why, it's your rainbow suit, Master Wayne."

He holds up the offending garment. It is like his regular batsuit in all ways, apart from the color. There are thick stripes of yellow, green, red, blue, purple and brown, merrily glinting in the light.

"If this is your idea of a joke, Alfred…"

Alfred manages to put up an admirably straight face if he is indeed joking.

"I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about. This is the suit you used to distract and confuse the Joker with during his last rampage. As I recall, it worked admirably."

Bruce clutches his head in his hands. This is so, so wrong.

Suddenly there is a rumbling. He peers down into the unfathomable depths, but there is no sign of an earthquake or mystical creatures rising up out of the dark. He raises his head again and motions for Alfred to run. But the butler does not run. He calmly deposits the outlandish costume into a container and starts dusting the computer's keyboard with a slight look of disdain on his face. The rumbling grows louder and debris starts falling from the ceiling.

He sees it now. Ten gigantic fingers smashed through the rock, wiggling around and apparently trying to tear the roof off. The fingers are clad in blue gloves. And somehow he knows what the rest of the body looks like. It is a short man in a blue coat and a top hat. Even if he doesn't look all that short right now. This is someone he is fighting. Someone he has to stop. And he has to get out of this place, lest his secrets be revealed.

"KnOcK, kNoCk, LittLe baT. WhY Won't yoU leT mE iN? Is iT a SecREt?"

The Batman remembers. He is in his own mind, spinning helplessly through desires and dreams and dreaded memories. And this man is searching for him, to do god knows what to him. He knows he must escape. He does not know the rules or understand how this is happening. But he knows that if the man can follow him through his mind, it can work the other way around too. All it should take is discipline.

"I dO sO lOve sEcrets. LeT Me In, Let Me In, In, In. I'd huFF aNd I'd puFF, If Only thAt haD beeN mE."

He lets out a deep breath and empties his mind. He can feel the cave wasting away into nothingness, but keeps his mind blank. He will offer nothing to fill the void. There is a short silence, but it is soon replaced by the loud clinking of plates and cutlery. He opens his eyes. He is in a corridor that has trouble deciding whether it is gray or blue, switching every time he blinks. He faces a door. Before he enters, he focuses on transforming himself. He knows he can't look like Batman. He opens the door and walks through in the form of a child. The noise lessens as he enters, but it is still present. The room is empty, apart from a man in blue sitting at a small table hanging from the ceiling, a cup of tea in front of him. There are windows on two of the walls, all of them without glass. A clear blue sky is all Bruce can see. He walks until he is almost directly beneath the man.

"Hello." The man doesn't look up at the question. Or down, depending how you looked at it. "You're the Mad Hatter, aren't you?"

He looks anxious, his fingers drumming on his chin. Surprise flits across his face for a second at the question, but he immediately reverts back to worry.

"Greetings, child. And yes, indeed, yes I am. Do I know you?"

Now that he sees Bruce, he starts staring. And it is almost as if his eyes are growing larger.

"I saw you in a book. My mother used to read it to me."

The Hatter smiles as his eyes keep growing. Bruce feels a bit queasy at the sight of it.

"She must have been a great lady. I am unbearably sorry she has stopped showing you. "

Bruce ignores the empty words and climbs up the empty air, trying to get closer.

"What are you doing here?"

The Hatter looks at him with disdain and sticks two fingers into his tea cup. They appear in giant form under the table cloth, swiftly moving the table onto one of the walls. His face scrunches up in annoyance as he regards Bruce.

"I am looking for someone. And you? What are you doing here? Can't say I remember you."

Bruce takes a deep breath.

"I live here."

The Hatter's eyes, now wide as saucers and looking more like deep pools of water than eyes, turn to the windows and he gives an uninterested huff.

"Very well then. But if you see a bat dressed as a man, do let me know. He's around here somewhere, wandering my worlds. I just hope the damage isn't too profound. It's already bad enough, being forced into one place at once and needing to follow him through his dreary creations. And it's hardly safe to leave, what with him being over there as well. Woe is me."

Bruce swallows thickly.

"What do you mean? What worlds?"

The man in blue scoffs.

"What worlds? Do you even have a head on your shoulders still? Worlds like this one, of course."

Bruce shakes his head.

"No, this is my house. And my dad will be coming home soon."

The Hatter's eyes shrink as he looks around the room with confusion on his face.

"What? No. No, this is mine. I made it. It is a waiting room. I am waiting."

Bruce shakes his head again.

"No, this is my living room."

The Mad Hatter furrows his brows.

"That's just not possible. This is my reality. Not yours. See how it's not dull at all? It's not the regular reality. It's mine."

Bruce crosses his arms on his chest.

"This is my house. It is real."

The Hatter's face disappears, leaving only a broad smile floating in the air.

"Does any of this seem real, child?"

He cocks his head to the side and stares at the floating teeth.

"My house is very real."

The face reappears, flushed with annoyance.

"It is not real!"

Bruce shakes his head up and down.

"It is too! But you are not."

The Hatter scratches his head.

"What? Yes I am. And no, it is not."

Bruce leads them through several loops of this conversation, the Hatter's face flushing bright red with anger. He grows madder and madder with every repetition, every time he is drawn further and further into the nonsensical argument. As he grows angrier, the sound of cutlery clinking grows dimmer until finally, after one more try at convincing Bruce he is real, it dies out completely. Bruce turns the argument around without missing a beat.

"You are real!"

"I most certainly am not! Wait…"

Bruce dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

"If you really weren't real, you'd be able to do unreal things."

The Hatter's head leaves its body and starts sailing through the air as trumpets stick out of the walls and blast a joyful note into the room.

"Are you blind? How is any of this real?"

Bruce puts his hands on his hips.

"You _are_ real! You can't even make it rain ravens!"

There is a crack of thunder and outside the window Bruce can see ravens diving to the ground, determination shining in their black eyes. The Hatter smiles smugly.

"Well?"

Bruce chortles.

"Ravens wouldn't do that. They'd fly back up before they could hit the ground. You can't do anything right. You're as real as can be."

The Hatter's flying face crunches up in anger and the ravens start flying back up just before they hit the ground. Bruce stares out the window with a bored expression.

"Bet you can't make even half of them write. You don't even have a writing desk."

Ravens flock through the windows and seat themselves at newly appeared writing desks, purposefully bringing feathers dripping with ink onto their respective papers, unleashing their boundless creativity.

"There," the Hatter announces with pride. "I am obviously not real."

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

The head stops flying and the eyes stare at Bruce. The ravens keep scribbling furiously away. The Hatter's voice sounds hesitant.

"That is my question. I do not answer it."

Bruce scratches his head.

"But the Mad Hatter said you should."

A hand detaches itself from the Hatter's body to put a finger to his lips as he stares blankly out the windows.

"What?"

"Batman, how could you forget?"

The floating face stares blankly at Bruce.

"But I am not Batman."

Bruce cocks his head.

"But you told me so. You said the Mad Hatter was messing with your head and you were running from him."

The head shakes from side to side.

"No, no, no. I am the Mad Hatter and I am waiting for Batman so I can destroy him and leave safely. This is all very simple."

The ravens freeze momentarily during his speech, but get right back to work as soon as he finishes.

"Then what are you doing here? You're not running from the Batman."

The Hatter's headless body throws the cup of tea at the floor, its contents flowing endlessly and spreading over the whole floor.

"Of course not, you imbecile! The Batman is running from me!"

Bruce hums thoughtfully as the Hatter's eyes leave the head and latch onto the wall, the head glossing over the empty sockets with new flesh.

"Who are you again?"

The sea of tea quivers angrily, lapping at the walls and Bruce's feet.

"I. Am. The. Mad. Hatter. Do you see? If I hAd A wOrlD Of mY owN, eVerythIng woUlD Be NoNsenSe. NotHing woulD bE whaT It Is, becAusE eVerytHing woUld Be whAt It iSn't. And coNtRarY wIse, What Is, it wOuldn'T Be. And whAt It wOuldN't be, It wOuld. You sEE?"

Bruce nods slowly.

"I think. So you're Batman?"

The mouth sets in a frown as it flows in circles around the little boy.

"Gah! Whatever gave you that idea? Did we not of this speak already?"

Bruce shakes his head. The raining ravens and the writing ravens are having trouble doing their duties. The sea of tea does not much resemble a sea at all.

"No. Who are you again? I am the Mad Hatter."

The headless body shakes its hands at the ceiling, trembling with frustration.

"No! No, no, no, no! _I _am the Mad Hatter."

Bruce scratches his head.

"But you're Batman. You told me so yourself. You're running from the Mad Hatter."

"No, no, no, I am the Mad Hatter. No one else is. Do you see?"

The ceiling weeps in frustration and white and red roses sprout from the sea of tea. After a few dozen more circular conversations, the Hatter's already tenuous grip on reality starts to slip. The head circling the air screeches in frustration at every new question, until finally it gives up. The head returns to its body, a new cup of tea materializing for further consumption of relaxing beverages. The hands massage the temples of the aggravated head. Bruce coughs politely.

"Then I guess Batman better run as fast as he can. But who are you?"

He slams the cup down.

"Where have you been this whole time? I am the Mad Hatter!"

Bruce points to the Hatter's reflection in the lake of tea.

"Then who is that?"

The Hatter looks down at his reflection and yelps, his eyes swooping back onto his face and his legs swinging wildly in the air as he reflexively reaches his hands up to his headwear in a frantic attempt at escape from himself.

* * *

Batman's eyes jerk open and throb in tune to the rhythmic heartbeat thudding dully in his head. He groggily gets to his feet, his thrumming head protesting all the way. Through the doorway he can see the Mad Hatter sitting on the floor, surrounded by unconscious bodies and empty smoke pellets. He is turning his hat in his hands, messing with something on the inside and putting it back on his head, removing it again seconds later only to try the whole process again. He is muttering something to himself. Batman takes ginger steps toward him.

"I want it. I want it. I want it. I want it. I want…"

He catches his reflection in a mirror on the far side of the wall. Perched on top of his cowl is a fedora, the ears of the cowl jutting out. It might be considered stylish, but still he removes it. On the inside of the hat is an absurd amount of miniscule circuitry, completely destroyed in two parts where the ears stabbed through. The Batman ignores his curiosity and discards the hat. He has a city to save, after all. He takes slow, painful steps toward the man muttering on the floor.

* * *

AN: Decided to cut this in two, to keep it from being too massive, so no Ivy or Scary or Mask.

I didn't quite manage to put any horror into Hatter's finale. Just some possible Uncanny Valley effects, but they don't translate too well into text. Oh, well, I'll justify calling this a horror story later.

Only two chapters to go if my plan holds up, plus an epilogue. Can't believe I've spent almost a year writing this. Fun to do but still weird. Maybe I'll try to publish the last of this story on it's birthday. Real life business has picked up so slower updates are possible.

The hysterical dame line in Bruce's detective fantasy is inspired by Problem Sleuth, a web-comic on the awesome mspaintadventures site.

Here is the rainbow suit: http:/ scans-daily. dreamwidth. org/ 1893863. html

The Mad Hatter's Song by The Incredible String Band.


	18. Il Mercenario

Harvey Bullock was not a man with lightning reflexes. Neither was he a small target. But he was an angry man. An angry man with a gun. Like many of the people going in with him. No matter what Gordon said, this was personal. That was why Harvey Bullock was now preparing to rush in with one of three teams of heavily armed law enforcers, not standing idly with the others that were maintaining a barricade along the whole block. The biggest problem was that they had no idea how many goons the Scarecrow had with him. Or where in the building they were. It was a large block of brick and shingles, three floors high, with plenty of interconnected apartments, if they could be called that. The building was haphazardly built and in blatant disregard of structural safety codes. Like half the Narrows, Bullock supposed.

The signal came and the door was battered down. They poured into the room, guns swinging toward every dark corner. Gas filled the room, ineffectually covering their masked faces. The bastard would have to come up with a new trick. A short burst of gunfire sounded from further into the compound. Bullock darted into the next room and immediately fired two shots at a dark figure in the middle of the room, partially obscuring a stairwell leading up. The figure didn't go down. He shone his flashlight on it. A scarecrow. Cute.

More officers entered the room. A figure jumped out from the doorway to the next room and there was a bright flash and the unmistakable crack of a shotgun. Bullock heard a shrill scream by his side and shot twice, the figure in the doorway crumpling to the floor. He shone his light on the man. A trench coat and tattered pants. And a burlap mask. Bullock took a step closer. Someone shouted a warning and he swung around. Two men had appeared at the top of the stairs, brandishing machine guns. Bullock ran to the wall, readying himself to fire around the corner. An officer brushed past the scarecrow as he ran out of the way, making it swivel slowly in the dark. The burst of fire stopped and Bullock peered round the corner, firing off two shots at the hastily retreating figures. Both missed. He looked to his side. The officer had torn off his mask and was blinking confusedly, staring at the slowly spinning scarecrow. With a strangled cry he jumped at it, knocking it to the floor and slamming his fists into it. With each blow came the dull thud of his fists hitting the hard wooden floor beneath the straw.

Two officers struggled with him, dragging him out of the building as his bloodied fists flailed wildly at them. Bullock looked more closely at the scarecrow. There were various little shards sticking out of the straw, covered with a dark liquid. He bellowed into his radio to warn the others, but his voice was drowned by the steady rumble of gunfire. He cursed and ran up the stairs, where three officers were already firing at the Scarecrow's men. He shot twice into the darkness, diving for cover behind an old kitchen stove. Bullets whizzed by him and clanked against the old metal. He leaned out and fired at a moving figure in the darkness, momentarily lighting up the room. It was large and filled with various junk and even more scarecrows. From somewhere in the darkness another shot rang out and the bullet swiped his hat off. Bullock slammed back down to the floor, running his hand slowly along his sweating head. He hoped Gordon's group was having better luck getting through.

* * *

Gordon was pressed against the wall, bullets flying by as the crooks around the corner emptied their guns in his direction. One of his men threw a flash-bang into their room, leaving them blind and helpless as the officers raced in and took them down, handcuffing them and forcing them to the ground. Gordon stormed into the next room, careful not to touch the scarecrows or the spikes on the walls. A few of his men had already fallen prey to the Scarecrow's dirty tricks. He would not fall for it again.

He ran into the next room, an old kitchen, his footsteps sounding heavy on the broken tiles. He ducked behind the counter as a gunman fired from behind a torn, old sofa. The bullets smashed into a cabinet just above him, glass sprinkling over his head. He swung up and fired two shots at the sofa, then ducked back down as the next volley came. Footsteps reached his ears as it finished and he jumped up again, shooting his fleeing adversary in the leg, causing it to buckle under him.

Officers poured in, kicking away the injured man's weapon and handcuffing him. As they slowly entered the next room, Gordon raised his radio. His group was still only on the first floor. Bullock reported back, said he was bogged down on the second floor. Montoya hastily screamed she was on the third floor before he lost contact. He could only hope she was alright.

* * *

Montoya fired two shots into the room, then got back behind the wall. She wanted to hurry, to clear this room as fast as she could. She had seen him. She was sure of it. They were all wearing burlap masks, but something about that one had told her he was the one. He wasn't wearing a trench coat like the others, and he had a hat, his whole ensemble looking more like a scarecrow's.

She fired twice more into the room and one of the gunmen went down with a scream. She took cover again and reloaded. The cop next to her aimed at the room for a moment without firing, then raced in. She sprinted after him, running through the room and wrenching open the door she had seen the Scarecrow enter. She ran up a flight of rickety stairs, then kicked open another door and found herself on the roof.

And there, at the edge, just a handful of feet ahead of her, he stood. She raised her firearm and shouted at him to raise his hands and get down on the ground. He turned around slowly and cocked his head at her. She shouted again. He raised his hands to his sides, mimicking his namesake. The wind tore at his tattered clothing, the shirt shaking wildly on his thin frame. She couldn't see his eyes, or any indication of emotion. Just the harsh mask. A shiver went down her spine and she clutched the trigger. His head dropped forward, the hat obscuring almost all of the mask. The move reminded her of a puppet jerking along with the strings. The wind blew harder, making the rags covering his bones shake wilder. She swallowed. Then suddenly, there was the sound of breaking glass and his arms swung forward. She pulled the trigger, once, twice, and the figure was falling.

* * *

Evan smiled behind his mask as the gun was leveled at him. He peered out of the slits of his mask and saw his angel at the side of the roof. Evan was going to die. And he would do so gladly. He took in a deep breath, felt the howling wind tearing at him, smelled the summer night's air. This was not the end. It was a beginning.

He let out a sigh as the angel raised his hand. He let his head drop forward and smiled forlornly. He heard the breaking of glass and swung his arms in the woman's direction. Bullets tore into his body and he was stumbling back, falling. And in the instant before the rooftop left his sight, as both he and his angel began their flight, he could see him halt. In mid-air he stopped. Turned around and the ghastly mask vanished. And he smiled, a smile that was both the sun and the moon and the sea and the hope of thousands. Evan gave a smile of his own as he fell through the night. A tear left his eye as the rooftop left his sight, his body falling past barred windows and cold shadows. He stared up at the sky in that infinite moment, as he slowly drew closer to the ground. He could almost see the stars.

And in another second, Evan was nothing but a broken husk on the ground.

* * *

Emily saw them both flying through the air. She immediately dismissed the shot one. The one who made a impressive, yet clumsy leap onto the next building was him. There was no doubt in her mind. He would not die so easily. And there was something about him as well, the way he moved, the eyes, even if she couldn't see them. She didn't know what exactly it was, but she recognized him.

And she knew where he was going. She had taken time to snoop around the neighborhood. There was an exit from the building he'd jumped into. An exit that led to a dark back alley. He would either run further or try the sewer entrance that could be found there. She ran as fast as she could to the alley, then stopped dead in her tracks. What exactly was she going to do when she got there? Scream for the police?

She heard the door rattling. In the blink of an eye she grabbed the lid of a garbage can and crouched behind it. She could just make out his figure, running towards her, coming closer and closer. And with a silent prayer she sprang up. And slammed the lid into his face.

He fell to the ground, landing in a puddle. Her chest heaved and she clutched the lid tighter. His hands crawled along the pavement and he shakily got to his feet, staring straight at her. He was wearing a new mask. It looked harder, almost like it was made of wood. And his eyes promised pain.

"_You,"_ he rattled, sending shivers down her spine. "_It was you, wasn_'_t it? Do you think you can avenge yourself? Do you think you_'_ve overcome your fears?_ _I made you. And I can destroy you just as easily."_

Before she could react he had knocked her to the ground and straddled her. His cold, gloved hands found her throat, pressing harder and harder. She kicked and punched ineffectually at him, then tore through her pockets for anything to defend herself with. He leaned forward, his head hovering just above hers.

"_Didn_'_t you learn anything? It_'_s hopeless."_

Her hand shot up with her weapon and he fell back, clutching his throat. She crawled desperately back as he slowly advanced again, his breath coming in rasping hisses. He looked down at her as she tried to crawl faster, his cold eyes staring down at her, his fists clenched and shaking. He brought his leg down on her neck and slowly added more and more pressure, his eyes boring into hers as she clawed at him.

Then someone yelled from the end of the alley and the pressure lessened as a flashlight hit him, illuminating the pen sticking from his throat. The person yelling told him to back off, to put his hands in the air. He stared for a second, then stepped down harder on her throat. Her eyes bulged and her body screamed for air. She heard a trigger being pulled, then the empty click of an unloaded barrel. The Scarecrow gave a hissing laugh above her and the person behind her swore. She heard heavy footsteps behind her, saw the Scarecrow raise his hands and spray his toxin into the air, then saw him tumble to the ground with a huge man on top of him.

She crawled over to the wall and sat against it, rubbing her abused neck and trying to breathe. The huge cop was beating her tormentor relentlessly, the latter delivering jabs of his own, apparently stabbing the big man with something to little visible effect. A few moments later the Scarecrow went limp, blood slowly seeping through the cracks in his mask. The cop kept hitting him. And hitting him. And hitting him. The prone figure twitched with every blow, his breathing coming slow and ragged.

Finally more cops arrived, dragging the man off the Scarecrow and holding him down as he screamed at the lying figure. Emily shuddered. And a kindly hand touched her. She looked up at the haggard face of the commissioner with a smile of relief, tears forming in her eyes as she tried to mutter her thanks through her tortured throat.

* * *

"We're ready. I think you don' even have to leave the car, we can take care of it."

Two men were seated in a limousine a road down from Robinson Park. A strained silence reigned, one man reveling in it and the other growing more uncomfortable by the second. Finally, the man in the mask broke the silence, his deep voice reverberating through the air.

"Look…hell, I don't even know your name. Doesn't matter. I don't like having my ass kissed. And you're not sitting on cow."

The man with no name glanced down at the leather seats and went white as a sheet.

"So keep quiet. And get to work."

The two men left the car and walked up to the park, a large group of unfriendly looking men joining them. The man in the mask stayed at the entrance with a dozen thugs while the rest went into the unkept green of the park, carrying gasoline containers. They trudged uneasily through the darkness with little flashlights, sploshing the gas this way and that, their movements and furtive glances cast at each other revealing their confusion at their task.

Minutes passed and the gasoline was still being spread. The man in the mask idly toyed with a lighter at the entrance, staring into the foreboding darkness impatiently. But then the lights started dying out, one by one, and the men standing around him grew uneasy. With a chuckle he led them into the garden as the remaining lights in the park huddled together, realizing their ranks had grown thinner. The men's fear grew stronger as they walked further into the dark, seeing no trace of their comrades. Just a few lights up ahead, about a third of the number that had set off. With each step Black Mask knew he had done the right thing. This wasn't the same old story. This was something magnificent. A moment he was destined to see, great things bound to happen.

They reached the men that remained of the original group, huddled together like cattle. They peered around frantically and shined their lights into the darkness. It was the first time in his life he'd seen someone relieved to see the Black Mask coming.

"What's goin' on, boss?"

He chuckled.

"Someone's killing you off one by one. Just stay alert."

The twenty or so men formed a circle around him and pointed their weapons at the darkness all around them. He threw his hands out and chuckled. He'd waited so long for something like this. It had been so long since he'd felt excitement.

"Come on, you bitch!" he shouted, "Show me what you've got! Strike me down!"

The first sound that signaled her compliance was a low rustling followed by a wet gurgling. He looked to the source of the noise. There was something stretching from the ground, sticking out into the air, through a man's neck. The bloody tip quivered slightly. The Black Mask chortled in disbelief. A few cries rose from his men, some of them quickly strangled. He looked around and saw his men with vines through their skulls, their legs and their bellies. They were staring in horror at each other and the things attacking them, a few starting to fire at the ground. He brought out his lighter. Ignited it. And flicked it casually onto the ground a few feet away from him.

The night lit up and the unfortunate bastards standing where it landed screamed even harder. The Black Mask stepped back and admired the growing flames, bringing out his knife to slash away any vines that might try to impale him. The fire spread out in front of him and the surviving men that weren't stuck scurried away. The way back out was still clear, if the bitch didn't dare.

But there, in the shadows up ahead, was a silhouette. He brought out his pistol with a practiced movement and shot at both legs, bringing the person noiselessly to their knees. He ran to the fallen figure, hacking away a solitary vine with his knife on the way. The spreading fire licked at his suit, but he kept going. He needed to see just who the hell this was. He slowed down as he drew closer and let out a rumbling chuckle.

"So this is the end. Gotta say I'm disappointed."

He stared down at her silent form. She just stared back, a small smile gracing her lips. She was gorgeous. She hardly looked human in the light of the fire.

"Hate to let you go so quick, sweetheart, but examples gotta be made."

He put two bullets in her abdomen. She crashed to the ground, her chest quaking. And she was still smiling.

"You think you can take this town from me? Think being tough's gonna cut it? Think being weird scares me? Do you even know where you are?"

A vine slapped the gun from his hand. He slashed it in two before it could do further damage.

"No cute tricks will save you."

He grabbed her neck with one hand and raised her up. He punched her straight in her smiling mouth, her head snapping back with the blow.

"It ain't worth nothing."

He slid the knife into her stomach and twisted it. She still didn't flinch, but a drop of blood leaked from her mouth.

"It don't matter what you can do if you don't know how to use it."

He threw his knife away.

"When you 're done, you're done."

He took her head in both hands. And with a smile hidden behind his mask, he twisted it all the way around.

"Because we all die so very, very easily, sweetheart."

He chuckled. But just before he could drop her, he thought he felt something. Her head was moving. Trying to turn around. Slowly pushing back. He clutched tighter out of instinct, unable to think. He was dimly aware of something brushing against his legs. His hands gave way, her head turning fully around again, her eyes staring up at his. The smile was wider now, predatory.

"Is that so? _Sweetheart_?"

He was in the grip of dozens of vines, slithering over him and tightening their grip, thorns grazing him and tendrils cutting into and slithering under his skin. He struggled and tried to look back, see why none of his idiots were helping him. The fire crackled around them, the heat growing stifling. He raged and cursed, clawing at the thick ropes around him, his nails growing wet with the seeping juice. The vines clutched tighter and tighter and as the pressure grew, he looked back at her.

And he looked into her eyes and he saw himself, every little moment, every drop of blood, every shrill scream. And it was completely meaningless. Every new evil, each new masterpiece, all the depravity he had enacted with savage pleasure, it all felt empty. He'd pushed the boundaries, done unspeakable things that would make any man's blood curdle. And the world did not care. He was a little man, playing little games of good and evil and the world did not care. He saw himself climbing a stairway to the skies, paved with pale corpses and wet organs that yielded to his feet as he passed, flames and a chorus of screams marking his ascent. And within a blink it was out of his reach, his dream dead, gone forever.

And as his mask splintered he let out a scream, much like all the people he'd ever used, and within his scream was a tiny laugh, as he realized with a little smile in his mind, through the agony and terror of finally dying, realized he'd never played the sufferer before. Roman put everything into his rising scream as the pain and pleasure sang in his racing blood and tortured flesh and his skin tore. This was ecstasy, terror, rage, this was paradise.

And then his mask creaked and his bones cracked and his blood seeped out and his mask was dust on the ground and he was a broken sack of flesh and he was nothing.

* * *

**"Alfred, I put a tracer on an informant. Give me his location will you? And tell me if there's any word on Gordon."**

He swung through the air, shooting another grapple and catapulting himself into the air, spreading his cape and gliding over the dark streets, keeping a vary eye out for any more soldiers that thought of him as part of the problem.

"Master Bruce? I think there's more important issues for you to deal with. Listen to this."

_"There's something wrong here! The plaza, it's, it's gone! There's just this big hole and everyone's just walking to it like they're in some trance and…Shit, my battery's running out, shit, shit, shit!"_

_"Calm down sir, can you tell me where you are?"_

_"I'm in my apartment, just by Gotham Plaza. But it's fucking gone, goddamn it, and there_ '_s something down there__! And there's smoke everywhere and there's this really weird smell that's driving me freaking nuts and there's something wrong here and I'm about to fucking DIE, WE'RE ALL DEAD MEAT, YOU HEAR ME?"_

_"Sir? Sir?"_

"It cuts out there, sir. It was a call to 911 not five minutes ago."

He grapples to the next building and tries to go faster. He's too slow, too damn slow.

"There have been more calls of a similar nature, all from the same neighborhood. And apparently, the man you are tracing is also close to the plaza, whether it still exists or not."

He grits his teeth as he speeds through the night.

"Master Bruce?"

"**Alfred, I'm going to need Batmobile Four."  
**

**

* * *

**AN: So, I may just have killed Black Mask off. But I may not. I mean, was that even the real Black Mask? We may never know.

I am still rather horrible at action scenes. Hopefully I will slowly become bearable.

Pen's have a way of finding people's throats.

Ennio Morricone, Il Mercenario


	19. Blutrote Rosen

AN: I am terribly late, I know. My cheeks are aflame with shame.

* * *

He stared through his binoculars at the men below, his cape hanging limp in the still air. His target was in the company of soldiers, standing by an armored vehicle. They all wore gas masks, like himself. What exactly the soldiers were doing, or why they were in the company of a gangster, was still a mystery. But the low rumbling coming from the plaza only four streets away told him he had no time to reflect upon the situation.

With a push of his legs he bounded off the grim gargoyle that served as his seat. He dove through the air, silent but for his cape fluttering, and landed in the middle of the group with a dull thud. The soldiers flinched and his target jumped back, his head hitting the car with a thud. Batman's armored fist connected with a man's temple, his foot shot out and took down another. Four guns were raised, only to be knocked down immediately by a black blur, the frighteningly fast fists connecting with the soft flesh of his stunned adversaries.

His target still had his back to the truck, hands held out to his sides, no sign of either fight or flight. The frightened eyes of "Pretty Boy" Floyd stared back at him, the pale gangster failing spectacularly to live up to his fearsome reputation. The Batman's shoulders heaved in time with his breath as his heart pummeled in his chest. He let out his rasp.

"**Talk.**"

Floyd nodded frantically.

"Hey, look man, don't hit me, I'm like, the damsel in distress here. Or the male equivalent, like a, uh, like a dude in distress or something, I dunno. But you gotta kill her man, kill it, man, kill it with fire. Or cut it up or something, I dunno, ain't really much of a gardener myself."

The Batman cracked his fists and Floyd's eyes widened.

"She's down there by the plaza, there ain't no more soldiers in the way, doing something messed up, there's this huge thing and I think it's feeding, had all these bums working for her and I know not all of them were killed by the police and I think they all died down there and there's something in the air and you really need ta stop her or I'm dead and she ain't human and…"

The Batman's arm twitched slightly and the stream of words stopped. Floyd's terrified countenance changed suddenly.

"Shit, sir, I don't really care, do I? All you nutters can just bugger off, I've had enough. Gettin' killed's better 'an puttin' up with all this, like, sci-fi bullshit and you crazy jackasses lookin' down on me. Go to hell."

Batman reached out and pinched the man's neck, the gangster dropping limply to the ground. He inspected the fallen men quickly, making sure none of them would be standing up any time soon. Satisfied with his work, he ran off toward the plaza, the sound of his boots hitting pavement somehow registering despite the growing rumbling up ahead. As he grew closer, visibility lessened. There was a cloud of dust filling the area, slowly spreading over the streets. In the distance he could see people stumbling forward, marching absentmindedly in the direction of the plaza.

Soon he caught up with the crowd, spinning a woman around and staring into her face. There was a look of mild confusion on her face as he yelled at her to get away. Not once did she look at him directly. She hummed at his questions and kept trying to force her way past him, her hand reaching out and swatting at his hands like one would a fly. He muttered an apology and pinched her neck, laying her gently down on the ground. He sprinted through the crowd, trying to reach the front of the group. Before he was halfway through he had reached the plaza, the dust growing thicker and the sound of crumbling stone growing louder. He looked around, but could not discern any possible reason for the strange state of the crowd.

But as soon as he looked back at the group he knew something was very wrong. The people at the front of the group had vanished, and the dust was not nearly thick enough to hide them from view. He quickened his pace, the air around him growing hotter and the ground shaking harder with each step. As he reached the spot where he'd last seen them he understood. Immense heat wafted up from a black pit in the ground, where only hours before the statues of Gotham Plaza proudly stood. The darkness was too great for him to see, but he guessed the height to be fatal. And now the rest of the people were growing closer.

He threw himself at them, working in a flurry to bring them down with as little damage as possible, occasionally having to resort to unleashing blows upon the people he had sworn to protect. Within three minutes the majority had been dealt with, but it was still not enough. A young man walked with a serene air off the edge, his descent only stopped by a grapple tearing through and embedding itself in his calf. With a mighty heave the Batman pulled him back up, throwing him against the incoming people and knocking them down. He kept going, bringing down scores upon scores of people, until finally he found himself diving after another one as a woman calmly stepped into the darkness. He tightened his grip as he lay on the edge, desperately trying to pull the woman up. His whole body screamed in protest and his sight went blurry. He felt like he could throw up. With what felt like the last ounce of his strength he pulled her up, rendering her unconscious as soon as she was safe. He shakily got up to stop a group of three coming at him, his limbs trembling as he set to work. The first two went down after an effort, wearily he held the last one back just after she passed him. His breath heaved and he could feel his sweat drenching his costume. He pulled her closer to him and reached out to render her unconscious.

He blinked his eyes and a wet thud reached his ears. He blinked twice again before his mind could register what had happened. There was something embedded in the woman's eye. His grip went slack and he let out a gasp. In another moment the woman was torn out of his hands and into the pit. He stood there numbly, his hands clutching empty air, a piece of her shirt falling out of his grasp.

He grabbed a batarang in case the thing returned. He looked around in a daze. And there she was, barely visible through the thick dust rising from the crumbling plaza. An unmoving woman, less than a hundred feet away, her head craned towards him. Then she stepped in his direction. She moved slowly, shuffling forward as if something was slowing her down. It looked like she was dragging ropes with her, sticking out of the earth and latching onto her body. With each step they seemed to grow more taut, ripping up dirt. Then they seemed to catch up as if they moved of their own accord, growing slack once more until she took another step.

He could see more people approaching on the horizon. He ran towards her with grim determination. Soon he could see her clearly. She was smiling. She offered no resistance as he drew closer. He handcuffed her and looked back up at the incoming crowd.

"**Tell me how to stop this.**"

She looked up at him and cocked her head. She was silent, but the little smile still stayed on her lips. She was taller than she'd seemed at first, almost as tall as he was. He looked over the ropes that stuck out of the ground again. They looked almost like roots. But he didn't have time. He needed to save his people. He pinched her neck. Only she didn't go down. The smile on her face looked amused now, more real. She raised a hand and pointed at the people heading for the pit. They were only a dozen feet from death. He cursed and ran at them. He brought them down one after another, struggling to keep his body going, struggling to beat the vines that shot out of the pit to grab their victims. He could hear her voice, growing louder with each sentence.

"Can you feel it?"

He slashed a vine in two, grasped the man it had caught and threw him back at the others.

"Can you feel the earth thrum?"

Another vine grazed his shoulder before lodging itself in a man's neck. Batman cut it before it could retrieve its dead prey.

"Can you feel the air tremble?"

There was a rumble and a building on the other side of the plaza started crumbling. The pit was growing.

"This is it. The new world reveals itself."

A small boy bumped into his leg. He picked the child up and ran with him further from the pit before putting him down and running back for the others.

"**Stop it,**" he screamed at her. "**I**'**ll make a deal with you! My life for theirs! Just stop this!"**

Another vine flew out and snatched another victim.

"That's very chivalrous. But your life is already mine."

She was standing just a short way from him now, staring down at him as he struggled. The handcuffs were gone.

"**You need help! I know something happened to you during your research! It**'**s not too late!**"

He took down two more, lost one to the pit. The dust kept rising.

"Are you talking about my ascension? Why would I wish help? I have finally found my answer."

The last one of this batch tumbled over into the darkness, the Batman diving for him and gaining a hold on the man's jacket. The heat wafted up at him as his arm trembled, his burning muscles slowly managing to drag the man back up.

"I have gained such clarity with my transformation. I have finally put everything aside. I can see what needs to be done."

He pulled the man all the way up and knocked him out, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn't go on like this for long. He had to put a stop to it now. He threw a batarang at her head in the hope of knocking her out as another throng of people approached. A vine appeared from behind her and took the blow. Her eyes peered down at him. It almost looked like she was taller than him now, but he dismissed it.

"Don't be so angry, Batman. I am merely terminating a pest. It is not personal. This is not out of spite. Just think of me as a butcher."

The smile that followed was friendlier than it had any right to be.

"Why don't you take off that mask? Let go. Rest. You deserve it. Just look how happy they are."

He dived into the throng, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, his every move requiring an effort, driving him that much farther past the point of exhaustion. She kept talking, her voice taking on a pondering tone.

"You didn't have to die. Managing to survive our earlier encounter was admirable. You would have had nothing to be ashamed of. You could have had a place in the new world, if only you'd just walked away this time. But then you wouldn't be you anymore, would you?"

There was a small voice at the back of his mind, growing steadily stronger. He couldn't go on much longer. Just collapsing on the ground and going to sleep would feel so good. He'd tried. He'd pushed himself further than any human should. Didn't he deserve a rest? This was impossible, anyway.

"Of course I can't exterminate you all, no more than you could cockroaches. But I can reduce your numbers to a more manageable size. I can open your eyes."

No, he growled at his treacherous mind. He would keep going. And he would win.

"You must change. The world is not about endless growth, endless prosperity. Such a thing is impossible. The world will not be sacrificed for such a silly dream. There is a balance to things. You need to mature. You need to understand how very small you are."

He knocked out the thirtieth and last person of this group, fighting the urge to throw up. He gnashed his teeth and turned around, moving slowly towards her. There were no people in sight, he had at least a moment to take her down. This had to stop.

"This is the end of humanity's short reign. Rebellious children that selfishly destroy, you will be struck down. The world does not want you."

Thirteen people were lost forever. And the dust kept rising.

"**I'm ending this. You had your chance.**"

He took in the sight of her. A crown of thorns adorned her head. Only a small portion of her skin was covered, by what appeared to be leaves. Her whole body and the fiery red hair that reached her waist were both covered in a thin sheet of dust that rose steadily from the rubble. A pair of impossibly green eyes were fixed on him, a curious smile playing on her lips. He was certain of it now, she was taller than before. She was actually a head taller than him. And then there were the ropes that tied her to the ground. Which on closer inspection were not ropes at all. They looked more like roots. And they weren't tied to her. They were sticking out of her arms and her back.

"Yes, little beast, let us end this."

With a well practiced move he flung a quintet of batarangs, two of them aimed for her body and easily deflected by the vines sprouting from somewhere behind her. The rest found their mark, however, severing several of the roots, causing them to fall limply to the ground, the stubs still sticking out of her body. A frown crossed her face for a moment, quickly replaced by a wide, disquieting smile. He noticed a thick, dark red liquid pooling from the severed roots before he pushed his protesting limbs forward.

"Join this city in its fate, Batman. This is a fine way to go. Better to die in my arms than be devoured by my creations, no?"

There was a sickening tearing sound and the Batman froze in his steps, his eyes going wide. Something was sticking out of her side. It had stabbed through her skin and was now wriggling in the open air.

"The good thing about my creations is that they can grow at incredible speeds. My darling down below will grow to gargantuan size. In only a day, a third of the city will be gone. All my darlings need, and all I need…is food."

The tearing sound continued and he moved to grab her. And then everything stopped.

The noise of the crumbling stone all around him vanished. All he was aware of was his own labored breathing, his fluttering heartbeat in his ears, and the pain. His eyes moved dully downward. A part of her body was sticking abnormally out, stretching on and on until it finally ended somewhere inside his gut. The pain picked up in intensity and his breath left him.

"Don't be afraid," the creature in front of him crooned.

Out of pure instinct, his hand flew out and slammed into her chest. There was another tearing sound and his fist sank into her body. Her skin fell onto the ground with a wet plop and her body writhed and slithered, swinging out and curling around him. Countless little vines stabbed into him and he grunted in pain. Her chest contracted and he felt his wrist snap somewhere within her. He gasped as the pain cut through the haze. Through the moving vines that made up her body he could see a translucent green sack, human organs stashed within, the heart still beating, veins pumping blood to the other organs. He felt bile rise in his throat.

Suddenly there was a hand on his cheek. It was cold to the touch and only human from the wrist. Instead of an arm there was a thick green chord, swaying slightly in the air. He could feel tiny little stabs all over his body and he could see where the little vines writhed around just under his skin, his blood seeping over them. He felt something surging through his veins and his pain was joined by ecstasy, as if every single nerve in his body had decided to make him feel everything he'd ever felt at once. His knees trembled and buckled under his weight, only her vines keeping him upright. His breath came in short, quick gasps, not nearly enough to fill his lungs. His neck slowly craned back, shivering along with the rest of his body. He let out something between a groan and a wail, the broken voice foreign to his own ears. She stroked his cheek, although the hand itself was unmoving, merely a dead object being rubbed against him.

"It's alright. I'm here. But it's time to go to sleep."

Her voice was so soothing. Like a lullaby sung by the sea, the constant crooning of water meeting stone. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever witnessed. His chest heaved and shuddered and his lungs burned with each raking breath. His mind felt empty. He had no name. He was just a man in blissful pain, sweating and shuddering and gasping. He was a man ready for the sweet release of death.

"This is the end of pain. You've done well. But it's time to go."

From the corner of his eye he could see someone walking. It was a middle-aged woman walking barefoot among the jagged rocks and broken concrete, her feet caked in blood and dirt. One foot left the edge, hovering above the darkness for a moment. He caught a glimpse of the pearls around her neck as she tumbled down. Then she was gone.

Something inside him snapped. With an animalistic growl he slashed at the vines with the blades on his wrist, her sap and his blood splattering around with every cut. More vines kept coming and so he kept slashing and slashing and slashing and slashing, until it felt like his heart would give out, and then he kept slashing. She backed away and his left arm, still stuck in her chest, twisted with the movement. A mechanism was inadvertently triggered and a slicing sound filled his senses. Before his eyes he could see the three blades of his gauntlets cut through the translucent sack, the organs tumbling to the ground, wet little plops signaling their landing. His eyes went wide and his body went completely still. A pathetic little sound escaped her lips and he looked up. Her jaw was tightly clenched and her eyes were staring down at the disgusting sight. He looked down again. One of the blades was sticking out of the heart as it beat one more time before giving up. There was another strange sound from the woman, if she could even be called that. He looked back up. Her eyes were pinched and her jaw was still clenched. Her lips trembled, then crooked slightly. Rapid, rasping breaths came from her mouth and the vines quivered. Her mouth was wide open and her eyes went wide, boring into him. Her lips pulled even further back and more breathless hisses left her. It finally dawned on him what was happening. She was laughing.

A few vines pulled back and formed an imitation of a human being, the whole body thinner and longer than any living person could be. Her makeshift arms hung all the way to the ground, the still human hands scraping against the rubble. She bonelessly bent forward and tightened her hold on him as she put her mouth next to his ear.

"W-why, Batman," she half-suppressed her hissing giggles as she whispered in his ear, "It seems you've c-captured my heart."

She rasped in a breathless laugh just inches from his ear and he found himself wondering for the second time that night whether this was real or simply the strangest nightmare of his life. She finally stopped laughing and whispered something to him, her voice like the rustle of dead leaves.

"Don't worry, I'm sure I can grow another one. It takes more than that to kill me. Do you even know what I am?"

She pulled back and stared down at him, smiling wickedly. If she was still human he would have called the gleam in her eyes madness.

"I am the queen of May, crowned in leaves, and blossoms, and thorns. I died once. And I resurrected myself as something else. I am immortal and you are just a weak, little creature standing in my way."

He was pushed to his knees. His whole body trembled, refusing his orders to get back up. He stared at her as blood seeped from his wounds and his chest shook with each labored breath.

"If you refuse my gift, that is fine. If you don't want your death to be special, that is that. We can do this any way you please."

A vine tipped up his chin, another hovering just inches away from his exposed neck.

"I must say, you are the most remarkable man I have ever met. And definitely the most annoying."

She smiled. And raised her strange, long hand to point at the other side of the pit.

"But you do realize that you were only guarding one of four ways into the pit, don't you?"

He gnashed his teeth and cursed himself as her hissing laughter sounded again and he prepared to die. There was a loud rumbling, like thunder, growing ever louder as he clenched his fists hard enough to hurt. The rumbling felt like it was vibrating in his head, threatening to blow out his eardrums. The earth shook with him as he tried to force his legs to move. A solitary tear formed in his eye and brilliant light filled the sky, almost blinding him as it fell on them. He heard a familiar voice mutter something in his ear as he gave a defiant scream, telling her to go to hell. Her face was frozen in surprise as the unmistakable form of the gigantic Batmobile Four slammed into her, the vines sliding off him and dragging along the ground as she was lifted into the air. The scream of the engine filled his senses, the whirlwind left by its passing making his tattered cloak flutter madly around him. He could see her crown of thorns fly off her head and fly through the air. In the blink of an eye she disappeared into the darkness of the pit. There was a moment of silence. Then the darkness was lit up for an instant, a great explosion cracked the air and the ground shook. Her crown fell into the dust before his feet.

He slumped to the ground and his whole body burned, each breath hurting more than the last. He held his unbroken hand to the bleeding wound in his abdomen. And he looked at the sky with new-found appreciation, a familiar voice calling him son buzzing in his ear. He let out a small smile as he saw the rays of the sun creep up on the horizon.

* * *

AN: All villains, no matter how seriously they take themselves, must at one point or another come to know the joy of horrible puns.

Yes, Batman can do the Vulcan nerve pinch. I don't know why that bothers me so much, but I went with it anyway. And no, there is absolutely no hint of melodrama in this chapter. The last line is not cliche at all. I am the very first to use it. Nope, nuh-uh, can't hear you.

Anyway, now there is only an epilogue left. It shouldn't take long, but knowing me, it's better not to make any promises.

It is called Batmobile Four as in "The Four Horsemen" but I couldn't really find a way to cram that information in anywhere. It is basically a super-destructive, ridiculously large, and hopelessly manly, tank. Batman's solitary tear was also very manly, no worries.

Blutrote Rosen by Hünemeyer. Charming little song, but mostly it was the title that seduced me, if you were in doubt.

So if you feel like saying something, please do. I may put up my own dissection of the many flaws of this otherwise completely brilliant and flawless story in the author notes in the epilogue, if I don't feel too lazy.


	20. Where the wild roses grow

The resulting paperwork was a nightmare. No one could quite make up their mind about just what had happened or how it should be classified. Some suggested terrorists, others pointed at the mobs, the papers theorized about a cult, others still spoke of the wrath of god, conspiracy theorists claimed the government was to blame and finally there were those who called it a natural disaster.

Scientists were unable to completely explain the creatures encountered by the police force. The Mad Hatter's strange devices were likewise beyond comprehension. The mysterious woman mentioned in police reports was dismissed as a possible culprit, but the Gotham Post ran a story about her leading a pagan cult anyway, the story backed up by witnesses encountered in the seediest of bars. The word super-villain started appearing more and more frequently in news reports and daily life.

Half of those who went missing during during the bloody summer were never found, despite the police's efforts. The city wept and a monument was raised where Gotham Plaza once stood, a memorial to those lost forever.

A month after the incident, Bruce Wayne returned from Europe, looking unnaturally pale and thinner than anyone had seen him before. Gossip magazines published shocking reports of drug abuse and the public reeled in shock and pleasure at their Prince's refreshingly normal escapade.

* * *

By the memorial at Gotham Plaza, a man is killed. His blood mixes with the rain and seeps into the ground, down, down, down into the dark tunnels below, till it reaches a curious growth. It almost resembles a face. And as the blood soaks the plant, eyelids flutter and a pair of impossibly green eyes open in the mud.

Above ground a man aims his gun at his second target, a young woman trembling on the cold, wet ground, her eyes darting between the dead man and the gun staring at her. The man frowns in grim determination and steadies his shaking hands, pointing his weapon straight at her heart.

A burrowing sound halts his work and they both gaze toward the source. There is nothing visible. The woman gets up on one knee but the gun his back upon her before she can move further. The man breathes deeply and swallows, rain and sweat pouring down his face.

Then something crawls out of the ground. Both turn again, her eyes wide, his jaw slack. The thing, a stick figure with only half a chest, stands shakily. His mouth opens and closes like a fish on land as it slowly starts shuffling towards him. He raises his gun and fires once, twice, taking a small chunk out of one appendix. The thing doesn't seem to notice.

He shuffles backwards and falls as it closes in on him. He raises his hands and tries in vain to speak. It finally seems to notice him and puts an imitation of a hand, cold and rough, on his head. He starts shaking. The thing raises its head and stares up at the sky with wide, green eyes, its whisper barely audible.

"I…failed."

It lowers its head again, its eyes unfocused, staring somewhere into the distance. It doesn't move for a few long moments, his breath coming in strained gasps. Then it pats his head absentmindedly and shuffles away. Its head is only a mask, a large chunk missing from the back of its head. He stares at its retreating form until it vanishes from sight. He slowly turns his head again and looks at the woman sitting a few feet from him. They stare at each other in the rain, shivering.

* * *

And so days pass and the seasons turn and the city heals. Night falls and brings new wonders with each passing.

Death smiles as the sky lights up behind him, his cackles made immortal by the media, his visage made an icon of rebellion.

Fear made flesh stalks a damp, dark cellar, shrill screams rising ever higher behind him. His is the name forgotten people fear.

Mystery smirks as his hands weave in and out of people's lives, both leper and king forced to dance.

Freedom races across the rooftops, her presence never felt. The public smirks at her exploits, cheers as she strikes the nigh untouchable upper class.

Wrath stares at the coin as it flies, the corpse of the city's white knight returned to haunt them. The left hand feeds the poor, his red right hand pulls the trigger.

Delirium does a mad little dance as he takes new friends to the land of Nod, wherein he rends their minds asunder.

A dark savior runs through the night, his presence felt by all who would prey on the weak and all who have lost hope.

The city's prince smiles and waves at the cameras as he steps into a black car. From a puddle on the street, his crooked reflection laughs up at him: Waugh, waugh, waugh.

And the city changes with each narrow escape, spawning bizarre minds as year after year of strife passes. For as a great man once said: What doesn't kill you, only makes you…_stranger._

_

* * *

_AN_: _Apologies for the lateness of this. Don't know why this took a month.

Nightmarish paperwork! AAAAAAH! I promised horror did I not?

So. End of the story: Realism has been thrown out the window, here death means nothing if you have a name, every single day of the year a master-plan is going on, Batman shrugs off mortal wounds without batting an eye and Gotham is destroyed once a week with no consequences. Reality is mostly boring anyway.

I thought about having the man simply stand up again and finish the job, just for that extra ounce of delightful depression. But no, perhaps an open end is better.

As always, reviews will be met with a disdainful sneer.

Anyway, a few points I could have done better, read only if you wish:

Poison Ivy: Setting someone up as a apocalyptic style villain and then showing from her POV doesn't quite work out. There's her chilling: "So I said, heh, I said to him: How do you like them apples? Hahahaaa...What? Ugh. Again? Alright, alright, ahem. Attention, City of Fools! I am angry, blah, blah, kill you all, blah, blah and so on and so forth. We done now?"

Keeping her serious all the time got pretty boring. Then I realized, after the last chapter, that she could have a plethora of moods. She's a nature-themed villain, so why not let her have the many facets of nature as moods? Crazy mood swings from one encounter to the next, different attitude depending on the season, makes her more confusing and allows for more humor in her character. I thought of this while listening to the Roots, so that validates it.

The paradise thing sounded good, but I'm starting to think of her as pretty pagan, what with the respect for nature as opposed to the "earth is property of mankind" mindset. Also fits her faux-bum-rebellion thinking: The notion of private property is silly to nature-lady.

Batman: I need to get better at writing him. He pretty much does nothing but be heroic. Very little personality beyond "I must stop some people and then save some people." This can be excused partially by the whole apocalyptic style, but still. A pretty necessary part to a Batman story.

Villainous plans: These things are hard.

Moderation: Putting a truckload of villains in one story is fun but gets a little confusing. Or very.

Bums: Could have been something, but I got sick of them. I am an evil, lazy author.

So. Thanks for reading this little thing, it's been fun, if ever so slightly flawed.

Next on my agenda: Scarecrow horror one-shot, probably call it November. Ometochtli: Next in Riddler-Catwoman friendship thing series. Mr. Zsasz short story, as yet unnamed. Something with Two-Face, haven't actually decided anything other than I'll flip for his decisions, might make things amusingly random.

See you around.


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